


Who We Are

by Mickaelle



Category: Tenkuu no Escaflowne | The Vision of Escaflowne
Genre: Child Soldiers, Gen, Insanity, Post-War, Pre-Canon, Series Based, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-06-16 17:45:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15442458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mickaelle/pseuds/Mickaelle
Summary: This story assumes that Dilandau is aware of Celena's existence (more or less).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's mainly for fun and it won't be a long work.  
> The personalities of the characters are much like those in Gatti's memoirs but the events are different.  
> "Who We Are" is the title of one of Scorpions songs. I find that some lines of this song could describe Dilandau and Celena's relationship, so the titles of the chapters will be quotations from the lyrics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't supposed to be that long but I kind of got carried away... Well there is a lot of dialogues.

# I’m lost in you, you’re lost in me

# That’s who we are

 

Miguel uncorked the bottle and poured the wine. He was standing straight, keeping a serious face, almost ceremonious. He silently put the bottle down on the small table and stepped back toward the chair facing the lion throne.  
  
‘You too, drink,’ Dilandau ordered. He couldn’t restrain a smirk at the sight of the young man trying to hide his embarrassment.  
  
His long eyes widened a little and his gaze ran from place to place as he was looking for a way to comply the order. There was no other glass around.  
  
In his place, Dilandau mused, Gatti would have refused the drink, glass or not glass. Chesta would have blushed and apologized. Only Miguel was really funny to tease; he didn’t give up easily. His regular features remained still, and only an eyelids quaking betrayed his confusion.  
  
Dilandau let it last few seconds before releasing the soldier. ‘There is a closet behind this hanging,’ he pointed at the Zaibach flag on the wall.  
  
Miguel opened the hidden cabinet door and picked a glass. He had probably guessed it belonged to Folken for he took one of the most luxurious items. Yet it was less nice than Dilandau’s one. That was another trait the young officer liked about his man: he often walked on the line, never crossing it. For that matter, he filled his glass in the same way, generously but not too much.

  


It happened from time to time that the boy was invited by his superior on the evening, to share his wine or just talking. Dilandau found he was a good company, and way better than anyone else aboard the floating fortress. His other subordinates were perfect soldiers, and more importantly fully devoted to him, but they weren’t like him. They would enjoy fighting, but when came the time to kill they turned grave. Miguel was the only one who would sometimes let slip a giggle when spreading enemy blood on the floor. This guy had been a child soldier from the very beginning of his life. That was a thing in common with him: they had never known anything but war. It had led the boy to adopt a detachment towards the world, a cynicism that would make his fellows uncomfortable and delight Dilandau, and a vision of good and evil which made the latter roar with laughter. It was the main reason why he was invited: to entertain his superior with pleasant conversation he couldn’t have with someone else.  
  
Yes, Miguel was almost his equal and Dilandau liked that. But himself hadn’t memories older than his eighth birthday.

  


He took few sips before talking again.  
  
‘I remembered a moment in my childhood few days ago,’ he said, ‘I was training swordplay. I think it’s my older memory, but I can’t be sure… Do you remember your childhood Miguel?’  
  
‘Mostly yes, until four-five years old. Well, it’s very repetitive.’  
  
‘Your oldest recollection?’  
  
‘Cold. The troop walking in the snow, a forest behind us… and hungry wolves. It’s just a picture but logically we were crossing Bahonna Mountains.’  
  
The image which appeared in his head made Dilandau feel some jealousy. He had so few recollections where he was outside. He was tired of those dark walls or battlefields he could only remember. He shrank back on his throne, tasting the wine remaining on his lips.  
  
‘I can’t even recall the first time I killed. Can’t know if I liked it or not,’ he complained and stared meaningfully at Miguel.  
  
‘Neither can I tell if I liked that. It was a necessity.’  
  
‘You do remember, then. Tell me,’ Dilandau’s mouth started to water. He frowned as Miguel took time before answering.  
  
‘Actually there are two times,’ he said prudently, ‘I don’t know which comes first.’  
  
‘That’s even better!’ the young man smiled with delight.  
  
His man returned a crooked smile and avoided the mesmerizing gaze to focus on his memories.  
  
‘It was during a battle. I used to cut the enemies hollow of knee and let them on the ground, ‘ he explained, ‘ and usually they didn’t attack me…’  
  
‘Why?’ Dilandau cut him abruptly.  
  
‘I was so small, I guess they didn’t see me or thought I wasn’t dangerous.’  
  
‘Idiots.’  
  
‘However, this time one man tried to slash me. He raised his sword above me and I avoided the first blow by rolling on the ground. But he didn’t let me go so I caught his ankles with my legs and he fell on me. My sword was straight and he impaled himself on it.’  
  
They both had a brief chuckle.  
  
‘And then?’ Dilandau’s eyes shone with excitement.  
  
‘I struggled to extract myself from under his body and get my sword back. I was all covered with his blood but the guy was still alive. At a moment his hand moved; it was probably a convulsion but I believed he wanted to catch me so I hit him. Again. And again. Until I had to stop.’  
  
‘Why did you stop?’  
  
A fleeting smile tickled Miguel’s mouth as he noticed the disappointed tone of the commandant.  
  
‘Moras was yelling at me. He told me to drop my sword and to surrender. The battle was over.’  
  
‘How comes you didn’t end up as a slave?’  
  
‘They had lost a lot of men so they asked who among us would fight for them.’ He grinned and a dark irony lightened his irises. ‘I don’t know why some refused, they were killed straight away. How can one choose to die for the sake of a country which no longer exists?’  
  
‘It is called loyalty,’ Dilandau retorted with a disgruntled frown.  
  
‘I’m sorry,’ Miguel smiled impishly, ‘loyalty has no meaning for me if it doesn’t apply to you.’  
  
‘You’re a flatterer,’ the other said with annoyance.  
  
Miguel’s smile grew larger.  
  
‘Maybe, but this is the truth, sir. I’m not the only one, no one in your squadron care about Zaibach, they only pledged allegiance to you.’  
  
At that very minute he really looked like a child unable to restrain his joy. It made Dilandau uncomfortable: joy wasn’t a feeling he could share.  
  
‘What was the other first time?’ he asked to come back to the interesting topic.  
  
The smile turned into a rictus.  
  
‘Our detachment attacked a village. They weren’t our enemies but we needed food supplies. Most of the soldiers liked those raids and committed all kind of abuses on the villagers and fully destroyed the places.’  
  
Dilandau rested his head on the back of his throne and closed his eyes, picturing the scene while Miguel described it.  
  
_‘You’re an asshole.’_  
  
_‘No one force you to listen, but don’t spoil my pleasure.’_  
  
_‘Am I to understand torturing your man is what pleases you?’_ she sounded angry.  
  
_‘What do you mean? Just give me peace.’_  
  
_‘Are you blind? Open your eyes.’_  
  
He accidentally obeyed and watched Miguel.  
  
_‘What?’_ he asked, reluctant to acknowledge something was wrong.  
  
_‘He doesn’t like that. These are painful memories. Why do you inflict this on him?’_  
  
Dilandau examined Miguel’s face. He was slightly frowning while speaking, staring at the edge of the table. The corner of his mouth stretched sometimes in what could look like a grin and he briefly massaged his temple. Though he chose carefully his words to show cynicism his eyes remained dull.  
  
Dilandau felt a bitter taste on his tongue. Miguel wasn’t like him after all. He didn’t want to recall his past whereas himself suffered from the lack of memories. The officer’s traces of past were repetitive, as his man had said, but there was nothing he regretted or feared.  
  
_‘No one is like you, but it’s okay,’_ she tried to comfort him.  
  
She had finally managed to spoil his evening and to make him feel weird. Was it guilt? He saw it clearly, now, Miguel did his best to entertain him but he was the only one who enjoyed the bloody anecdotes.  
  
‘That’s enough, Miguel. Go back to your quarters,’ he said, and the boy lifted his head with surprise. ‘You are tired,’ he added to justify the sharp ending of the conversation.  
  
_‘Now he thinks he has done something wrong,’_ she said, peering at Miguel who was trying to figure out what had annoyed or bored his commandant.  
  
_‘You’re the one who asked me to put an end to this talk.’_  
  
The picture of his own arms embracing the young man appeared in his head.  
  
_‘There is no way I do this,’_ he growled. The idea that she intended to manipulate him worsened his feeling of irritation and thus came the tingling.  
  
She chuckled low, _‘What does it cost you to try?’_ she said sinking, and the ache slowly disappeared.  
  
He stood up hesitantly and walked toward Miguel, still sat, looking at him with a mix of worry and questioning. He reluctantly moved his hand forward and patted his man on the back.  
  
‘Goodnight Miguel.’

  


He had to recognize it, she was always careful of not hurting him when she visited.

  


Their first meeting few years ago was vague. It wasn’t even a memory, but more like a pre-birth event. What he remembered was the pain, as they struggled, fighting each other to remain conscious. Ever since, he felt that pain from time to time, when she stayed too long, like a blade or a needle in his brain. He had thought he had won the fight because she disappeared. Years after, he realised she had been the first to understand they would kill each other and had chosen to withdraw.  
  
Then came the boring part of his life: his training to become a soldier. He mainly recalled the impatience to fight for real, to go to war.  
  
It was during this period that he learnt enemy blades weren’t the sole danger.  
  
On a warm summer night he was confined in his tiny room. He was sleeping and the heavy air put him into a deeper slumber. Despite his breath was low there was a stinging in his lungs.  
  
_‘Wake up!’_  
  
He ignored this unknown voice. His brain stung too.  
  
_‘Wake up, you’re going to die!’_ the voice became louder and the headache more painful. He understood something was wrong.  
  
Why was he sweating so much? And what was that smell? He was so hot… and too dizzy to open his eyes.  
  
_‘WAKE UP DILANDAU!’_  
  
He thought his brain was exploding. He jumped on his bed and smoke got in his eyes. But he could see the bright flames all around him.  
  
_‘The window! Hurry!’_ she cried with anxiety, busting his eardrums.  
  
But he leapt over the fire to reach the door. His sensitive hearing had perceived quick steps in the corridor. He ran at full tilt and caught up with the fugitive. He saw a black cloak fluttering about behind the smoke veil and he grasped it.

  


The cloak burnt fast, black and purple eaten by red. The thing inside –was it human? – struggled, whining and crying awfully. Then the screams stopped and instead a strange but not unpleasant odour reached his nostrils.  
  
He left the building, mesmerizing flames still dancing in his eyes. Around him people were running in all directions, carrying buckets. Turning back, he noticed that the blaze was localised near his room. He was flattered to be the target of an assassination. He was dangerous.  
  
It was only after the fire was extinguished that he thought about the girl.  
  
‘Who are you?’ he asked. But he got no answer, she had disappeared again.

  


Few weeks later, Zaibach declared war on a neighbouring country which had great natural resources. General Adelphos judged it was the right time to send the contingent on the battlefield; thereby Dilandau was eventually allowed to fight.  
  
He remembered clearly the first night he spent under a tent and the fresh smells of untouched nature. He had a sentiment of respect for the quiet earth, and at the same time he was impatient to ravage the place.  
  
He took a walk this same night, thinking the Mystic Moon was far more beautiful above a deserted land. And he saw her for the first time, or more accurately her bright blue eye. She was in his head like in a nest, looking at him with curiosity.  
  
She stayed dumb and the gaze annoyed him. A sour tingling was added to his irritation, and with the increase of his annoyance the tingling in his brain turned into a sharp pain. On top of that he couldn’t see her entirely and he stamped his feet angrily until the pain was unbearable.  
  
‘GET OUT OF MY HEAD!’ he yelled, and his brain hurt too much so that he could hear the growls from the tents.  
  
It took few minutes before the ringing in his ears and the pain totally faded away. Gone.

  


But she came back regularly. She disappeared as soon as he ordered her but she came back again and again. He just couldn’t find a way to get rid of her.  
  
_‘I only want to see the outside world,’_ she said once.  
  
‘You hurt me.’  
  
_‘I’m sorry,’_ the voice lowered.  
  
‘Now it’s fine,’ he said after a pause. ‘You can come back,’ he added as he got no answer.  
  
He heard a faint yawn and a fainter _“Goodnight”_.  
  
‘It’s midday…’

  


Afterward they started to get used to each other and she could stay longer and longer before the stinging came. But as soon as an emotion disturbed him when she was there, the pain hit him badly. Most of the time it was irritation or wrath, but it was also true when he was excited by a coming battle.  
  
However he was never able to see her from head to toe, or even her face. It would be a shoulder, strands of hair or a fragment of visage that would appear. Like a person sleeping in the dark and the sheets let part of her being seen when she moved in her torpor or slightly awoke.  
  
He didn’t make a big deal about her. Everything had been settled in the world before he came and he didn’t question anything.

  


During the following campaign he had to share his tent with another infantry man. It was a boy a few years older than him who took him under his wing, like a little brother. With him he started to take pleasure in useless things, like chatting or drinking alcohol and somehow he liked the guy.  
  
One night they were enjoying general Adelphos’ wine in the storage tent and Dilandau distractedly talked about her, wondering if she was born at the same time as him.  
  
‘Her?’ the other was surprised to hear about a girl in an exclusively male detachment.  
  
‘The voice in my head,’ he shrugged.  
  
‘What?’ his gaze and mind were a bit cloudy because of the vino.  
  
‘I talk with her sometimes. Don’t you have a voice in your head?’  
  
His comrade fixed him stupidly for a while and then emptied his bottle. ‘You’re a weird guy, Dilandau.’  
  
They never mentioned it again, but from the next morning the boy would oddly stared at him and avoid his gaze. Thus Dilandau understood hearing a voice wasn’t a normal thing, and that he should better keep her existence to himself.  
  
He wanted to question the girl about the matter but he had to be careful. He had learnt the hard way that she had a strong and proud personality and that her angry outbursts were as painful as his. In other words he couldn’t tell her she was “anomalous”.  
  
She visited him on the evening, as he was polishing his sword.  
  
_‘Are you worried about the next battle, Dilandau?’_ she asked.  
  
_‘No,’_ he restrained the pleasure this idea brought, _‘You know my name, and I don’t know yours.’_  
  
She pondered a short time. _‘I don’t know mine either, so let’s say we’re even.’_  
  
_‘Hmm.’_  
  
Though he expected to learn more about her he was glad that she didn’t know more than him. In fact she knew less than him, for she barely knew the outside world. After that she avoided calling him by his name, which made him like her a little better.

  


His comrade was killed in the next combat and thus Dilandau was assured that no one could speak about the voice he heard. At least he thought so.

  


As the war was still going on he had to share a tent with a bunch of soldiers of various ages. He didn’t like this closeness but knew to take advantage of the situation.  
  
‘Poor little one, do we scare you?’ one of them mocked him as he was placing his cot in the more isolated corner.  
  
‘Don’t tease him, he just lost his roommate,’ another intervened.  
  
‘Actually I’m relieved this guy is no longer in my tent,’ Dilandau replied, unfolding his blanket. ‘He was kind of weird,’ he turned back, smiling sheepishly. ‘You know, he told me he was used to hear a voice in his head…’  
  
He restrained a grin as his comrades made the exact same face as the dead one had earlier.  
  
‘I had never heard of such a thing,’ he resumed, ‘did you?’  
  
‘Well, people like him are usually locked up in madhouses, you see, for crazy persons.’  
  
The girl chuckled, _‘they are saying you’re crazy.’_  
  
_‘It’s NOT funny.’_ The picture of walls all around him disgusted him.  
  
_‘I wouldn’t like it either.’_  
  
_‘For what I care.’_  
  
She disappeared in a slam and Dilandau gritted his teeth. Sometimes upsetting her was worth the pain.

  


During the last battle against a country named Toruan, Dilandau managed to kill a general, perfecting his reputation of elite fighter and becoming a commandant at the age of fourteen. He was then introduced to Zaibach’s strategist.  
  
While the man explained him his new responsibilities he was staring at the black cloak. It was the second time he saw one like this and the memory of what happened to the first one made him smile.  
  
_‘It’s not the time for grinning!’_ she warned.  
  
The strategist was frowning at him, still talking.  
  
‘May I ask a question, sir?’ he hypocritically asked after Folken had finished. ‘You said I’ll have greater responsibilities, am I to understand I’ll have greater quarters?’  
  
‘Like the other commandants,’ the man was annoyed.  
  
‘Good, cause I heard about a thing named bathroom and I’m pretty impatient to try it,’ he babbled, ‘I also would like…’  
  
‘We’re done,’ the strategist cut him shot.  
  
‘Alright, goodbye then. Nice cloak by the way,’ he displayed a large smile.

  


***

  


_‘They have made me pass tests today, to make sure I can read, write, etc.’_ he told her one afternoon.  
  
_‘What are read and write?’_  
  
_‘Uh…’_ he pictured a book in his mind, and opened it so that she could see the text.  
  
_‘It looks fascinating! Can you teach me to read it?’_  
  
_‘Yeah, I have nothing better to do,’_ he scoffed, though he was idly lying on his large bed.  
  
Since a week he had settled in his new quarters he had learnt to appreciate luxury and only left them for training.  
  
_‘Please, I’m so bored…’_  
  
He wrinkled one corner of his mouth. Boredom was something he knew as well and loathed. He took a book from a shelf.  
  
_‘Here, you can read.’_  
  
_‘Those signs, they remind me of something…’_  
  
_‘These are letters.’_  
  
_‘No, it was something like alphabet… Oh! I know! A, B, C, D, E, F, G’_  
  
_‘Cut it out, and read!’_ he got irritated.  
  
They both remained silent the time for the stinging to disappear.  
  
_‘Ok, you know the sounds of letters so try the first word.’_  
  
_‘”_ ei _”, but it’s the word “a”’_  
  
_‘Yes, good,’_ he clapped the book closed, _‘enough for today!’_  
  
_‘Hey!’_  
  
He giggled and opened it again. Just then someone knocked at the door. As he didn’t answer he heard Folken’s voice.  
  
‘Dilandau, open the door!’  
  
‘It’s open, just push the door!’  
  
‘Why don’t you lock your door?’ Folken asked while coming in.  
  
‘I may have forgotten it was locked and broke the lock…’  
  
‘Well, it’s dangerous, now that you’re an officer you may be the target of assassination.’  
  
‘I was already a target when I was a kid, you know,’ Dilandau retorted proudly, ‘It was a man with a cloak just like yours. I haven’t told you this story? I burnt the guy alive!’  
  
He burst out into long, insane laughter and Folken rolled his eyes.  
  
‘Are you reading a book?’ It was the first time the strategist looked surprised.  
  
‘No, I’m just… well, never mind. Why have you come for?’  
  
‘To see how you’re dealing with your knew responsibilities,’ the general answered, raising an eyebrow as he dissected the idle youth with his glance.  
  
‘What are you implying?’ Dilandau rose on his elbow, irritated by the gaze, ‘I don’t neglect my training, I perfectly handle my guymelef!’  
  
‘I’m talking about the men you are supposed to recruit in your squadron.’  
  
‘Oh, this,’ he lay back on his pillow, ‘the new contingent arrives the night after tomorrow.’  
  
‘You shouldn’t choose only young men,’ Folken reprimanded him, ‘there are more experienced soldiers currently at headquarters, and general Adelphos is willing to let you enlist one or two of his guymelef pilots.’  
  
‘I don’t care about them, strategos,’ Dilandau repressed a yawn, ‘but I’d like to have your pair of cats.’  
  
‘You can ask them.’  
  
This being said, the strategist left the room.

  


The men Folken had just talked about, Dilandau had casted a glance over them between his trainings and baths, to kill the time.  
  
They were ugly.  
  
Even the girl agreed with him. He couldn’t have those men under his command; they were all obsessed with promotion, money, and whatever fighting could bring in. They didn’t see the beauty in fighting –there, the girl’s opinion and his started to differ– and they didn’t have any of this hunger which enables men to turn the world into dust.  
  
However he remembered boys who were in his detachment. Glory, honour and pride were the only words they knew, and fight was their only way of living. Most of them had died, though, but new ones had been enlisted since, and they were coming straight to him, piled up in armoured conveys.  
  
The only thing he had to do was waiting.

  


The next evening, Dilandau had a bath prepared for him.  
  
He lay in the warm water, putting himself comfortable. Through the porthole he could see a huge ship supported by floating rocks, anchored at the boundary of headquarters. It was a slave boat that had come to take the prisoners from enemy countries. Dilandau had met the captain, the wealthier slave trader in the country. He was broad-shouldered, and had jet-black hair despite he was more than forty. They had both hated each other at first sight, although they couldn’t say why.  
  
Dilandau got the disgusting picture out of his mind.  
  
He liked the colour of his skin under the water. The white earthenware, his not so white skin against it and the faint swirls stroking his chest. It was so relaxing that he didn’t open his eyes when his apartment door slammed opened, then closed, and someone entered the bathroom. The panting and the screams in the hallway were annoying, yet, and the smell of fresh blood always brought excitement.  
  
He finally opened his eyelids, and saw the tip of a sword near his neck. At the other end of the weapon there was a young man, out of breath. The blood was running from a large wound on his bare torso. A crazy glint in his eyes made him look like a hunted animal, strands of brown hair falling in front of dark blue eyes dangerously glimmering.  
  
‘Are you coming from this ship?’ Dilandau asked, recognising the black collar put on slaves neck.  
  
The boy peered through the window and his mouth twisted.  
  
‘Don’t ask any question! What is your rank?’  
  
‘You want to use me as a hostage?’ Dilandau couldn’t restrain a grin. ‘You think you can escape that honeyed captain?’  
  
The other hissed like a cat, baring his teeth. ‘That fucking pederast! He wanted to brand me, I ran through him with his iron!’  
  
‘LORD DILANDAU! PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR, IT’S AN EMERGENCY!’ someone was yelling in the corridor, hammering on the door.  
  
‘Don’t move!’ the intruder ordered, and the blade grazed the skin of Dilandau’s neck.  
  
‘LORD DILANDAU!’  
  
‘It’s open,’ the named boy mumbled to himself, ‘Perhaps I should put a sign on the door.’  
  
He pinched the metal between his thumb and index and moved the weapon aside while he stood up.  
  
‘You fool!’ the boy shouted, raising his sword to kill him.  
  
But he couldn’t even see Dilandau’s hand as it ripped through the air. He collapsed with a gasp, hit straight on the trachea by the officer’s edge of the hand.  
  
‘LORD DILANDAU! I BEG YOU TO OPEN THE DOOR OR I’LL HAVE TO BREAK IT DOWN!’  
  
‘Or maybe a steel-jaw trap,’ Dilandau was still musing.  
  
He chuckled, reaching the doorknob.  
  
‘LORD D… Lord Dilandau!’ the man wanted to stand at attention but he was shocked by the sight of the naked man.  
  
‘What!’ the youth snapped impatiently.  
  
‘I…I’m sorry to bother you but we are pursuing a slave on the run, he murdered his owner. He must have entered your room.’ the man stuttered.  
  
‘There is no one else but me here.’ Dilandau stated.  
  
‘But, I beg your pardon sir, but there is blood in front of this door.’  
  
‘I can add more blood in front of this door.’  
  
‘Y-yes sir,’ the soldier was sweating abundantly, ‘I apologise for disturbing you. CONTINUE THE SEARCH!’ he yelled at other men in the corridor.  
  
Dilandau closed the door, raising his eyes heavenward.  
  
‘What a racket.’  
  
The fugitive was collecting himself. He quickly grasped his sword, looking warily at the other boy.  
  
‘Why have you covered me?’  
  
‘You’re cute,’ Dilandau replied with a crooked smile.  
  
‘What?’ his eyes popped out with disgust and he raised his blade.  
  
‘I’m kidding. I’m glad you killed the slave trader. I can give you a lot of people to slaughter.’  
  
‘Who are you?’ the boy asked slowly, opening widely his eyes, and he was no longer talking of rank.  
  
The question put Dilandau uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to see someone taking an interest in his person, and he hated being asked questions he didn’t know the answer.  
  
‘Wait for me in the lounge,’ he indicated a small cosy room adjoining his bedroom.  
  
Then he soaked his fingers in the bath: too cold by now. He started to dry himself.  
  
Dilandau wasn’t a patient person, and usually he did things hastily, but when somebody was waiting for him he suddenly felt the urgent need to take his time.  
  
He dried his face and looked at his reflection in the mirror. It was only few years ago that he began to love this visage; before, he didn’t pay attention. The features were regular and thin, and the vibrating brightness of his crimson irises was contained by the long dark eyelashes.  
  
Beauty was equal to perfection, and his face wouldn’t have been perfect without the fitting body. He was tall, and though his figure belonged to a teenager he had the strength of a man. His skills measured up to his body, as well as his sharp minds, that made him a fine tactician…  
  
_‘Not forgetting your modesty.’_  
  
His lips wrinkled in a smile. He was glad that she could see him, but she soon fell asleep again. Almost ceremoniously, he put his diadem on his forehead, letting the silver hair surround the purple jewel.  
  
Then he dressed himself with soft shirt and trousers, black and red, slightly glimmering under the evening light, and went out of the bathroom, avoiding the blood puddles on the way.  
  
He found the brunet in his own armchair, but the boy jumped on his feet when he saw him, still clinging to his sword.  
  
‘I’m commandant Dilandau,’ he said as a late answer.  
  
‘Fine, you can provide me a horse, then.’  
  
‘A horse? From which run-down country are you coming?’ he scoffed.  
  
‘Just obey; I don’t wanna stay in this rat hole!’  
  
‘I’m the one who gives orders.’  
  
‘I’m the one with a sword.’  
  
‘Oh yeah… About this…’  
  
His heel rose abruptly, sending the weapon flying up there then crushed it on the floor.  
  
‘Shit! You really are a monster!’  
  
‘What is your name?’  
  
‘Miguel,’ the boy said with a defiant gaze.  
  
‘Mi-guel? It sounds strange. You made it up, but fine, it will be your name.’  
  
Dilandau brutally caught the collar of the young man. He twisted the odd material, both elastic and metallic, without paying attention to the gasps of Miguel who was choked in the process. It wasn’t made to be removed but it finally tore. The black thong ended up in the chimney –another luxury to whom Dilandau wasn’t insensitive– always burning. He took the time to contemplate his hands that easily broke anything with a mix of pride and curiosity.  
  
‘I’m looking for men for my squadron. You’ll have to pilot a guymelef.’  
  
‘Alright,’ the guy replied, still on his guard.  
  
‘Call me sir or Lord Dilandau.’  
  
But Miguel looked him straight in the eye, with both defy and irony, in a way no one had ever dared to stare at him.  
  
Dilandau slapped him with all his strength, throwing him on the ground.  
  
He sat down in the armchair, closing his eyes and massaging his nasal bone. He hadn’t foreseen this.  
  
He could beat up Miguel until he begs him to enrol him and grovels at his feet, but then he would be no longer interesting. If he had to serve his men the same treatment as his enemies, there was no point in choosing them.  
  
‘You can go, Miguel.’  
  
Tomorrow he would have to select them. He didn’t want men who weren’t loyal to him. He had to find a way…  
  
_‘There is someone else? Let me see him!’_ she interrupted his thoughts.  
  
He pictured the boy in his mind, as he saw him: a tough face, almost animal, a crouching body stained with blood, crudely painted in his brain.  
  
_‘That doesn’t look like human…’_  
  
He lifted his head to check the reality. Miguel was standing with dignity, his face was the one of a boy tore away too soon from childhood, but yet had nobility and indeed was cute, or maybe handsome.  
  
_‘And there isn’t so much blood.’_  
  
‘Sir,’ he couldn’t bow his head but there was no more arrogance in his expression, ‘let me stay with you.’  
  
As Dilandau remained silent he let slip a sigh and bowed on one knee, ‘Lord Dilandau, I pledge al…’  
  
‘Too soon.’ the officer cut him off. He smiled, and for a split second he looked kind. ‘Ring for a servant.’  
  
Miguel complied and a houseboy knocked at the door a while after.  
  
‘You take this man to infirmary,’ Dilandau ordered, ‘then find him a uniform and weapons and show him the east quarters. And have this mess cleaned up.’  
  
They left and he took the sword hanged on a coat rack.  
  
‘Time for night training.’

  


***

  


The contingent arrived in the middle of the night and found a guy deeply asleep in their dormitory. If it hadn’t been with Zaibach obsessional precision it wouldn’t have disturbed them. But there were just as many cots as new comers and a fluffy haired boy remained standing in the room while the others had gone to bed. With a shrug he headed to the sleeping guy and slipped under the covers, the other way.  
  
Thus Miguel awoke around an hour later with a dirty sole of the foot on his cheek, and in the morning they were both snoring on the floor. As they were the only remaining sleepers, Gatti woke them up with a kick in the ribs and the drowsy band went to morning training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you like it, I had a lot of fun writing those silly stuff!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the chapter 2! I still have fun writing those inward dialogues so i made it long too.

# We are sun and moon

# The sky black and blue

 

Dilandau watched them entering the training room and starting to fight.

There wasn’t any superior to give them instructions for their captain had died during a pirates attack over the trip. However they seemed used to train by themselves, and Miguel was melted in the mob without any difficulty.

Posted on a walkway, unnoticed, Dilandau was glad with this show. Himself had mainly learnt to fight alone, or with soldiers around his age and he liked their independence.

_‘I can’t believe there are so many boys remaining after all the losses during the war! Is Zaibach such a huge country?’_

_‘Yes’_ he affirmed.

It wasn’t the plain truth, since an important part of the boys came from Zaibach newly conquered provinces.

 

In spite of his wound, Miguel was nicely contending with a blond-grey haired guy. At one point he caught sight of Dilandau, and his adversary followed his gaze. The blue eyes immediately noticed the rank of the young officer, and maybe he had heard of him for he seemed to recognise him.

 _‘If this little dolled up puppet tells the others I’m here…’_ Dilandau snarled inwardly.

But the boy went back to fight, as if nothing had happened.

Yet after a while he noticed Miguel’s injury and exchanged his partner with a long brown haired guy. The both fought roughly, with friendship and rivalry long ago fermented and not blossomed yet.

_‘They are very good swordsmen, aren’t they?’_

_‘Yes, but I need guymelef pilots.’_

He turned his gaze toward Miguel and his new adversary. There was no doubt about the reason why they had been put together by their comrades.

The blond boy was obviously more concerned about Miguel’s state than by the combat, pausing to let him rest or carefully waving his sword toward him. This behaviour of course irritated Miguel to the extreme and he soon hammered his partner like a punch ball.

‘Fight seriously dumbass, I don’t need your pity!’

‘Forgive me…’

‘STOP APOLOGISING!’

‘Uh.’

Though the girl found it utterly funny Dilandau was unable to believe what he was watching.

_‘What is he doing? It’s… It’s…’ ___

____

____

_‘Cute?’_

_‘Unwholesome. And look at that! He holds his sword like a table spoon.’_

_‘Or and handkerchief!’_

_‘I’m not kidding. He is insane.’_

Dilandau drove his gaze away from the repulsive picture and looked at other fighters. A number of them were very skilled and he relaxed some.

_‘What would be great would be death struggles; they could show what they’ve truly got.’_

_‘No, that’s a terrible idea,’_ she said with condescension.

_‘You’re right, they could all kill each other and I would have no one left to recruit.’_

_‘You get my point,’_ she raised her eyes to heaven.

_‘Anyway, I’d like to see at least hand-to-hand fights.’_

As if they had heard him, the boys put down their weapons and started to wrestle.

‘Don’t hit like a little girl!’ Miguel was still irritated by his partner.

But although the gentle kid didn’t strike hard, he dodged nearly all the blows with great agility.

 _‘See, he is strong after all,’_ she pointed out.

_‘Nonsense.’_

As Miguel was jumping aside to surprise his adversary, his injury started bleeding again and Chesta hurried to help him.

‘I’m sorry, let me tend to it…’

Dalet and Gatti reluctantly broke off their training to prevent Miguel from strangling the boy, and made them change partners again.

‘Viole, don’t aim at his wound,’ Gatti told the young man who replaced Chesta.

‘I’ll try to remember this,’ the other replied with a thin smile.

He didn’t show any pity toward Miguel, and though his hands were as delicate as his features, he struck like a man.

 _‘I’ve never seen someone training like this,’_ she said, _‘he looks like a wild cat.’_

_‘He is not training, he is fighting. He must have learnt to fight in order to survive, alone. I like that.’_

‘ATTENTION!’ somebody barked behind him.

It was colonel Harn who had been given the role of Dilandau’s nanny by general Adelphos and his main preoccupation was to pester the young officer so that he complete his squadron.

 _‘That idiot is ruining everything,’_ he massaged his forehead to soothe the irritation brought by the stiff man. 

Before leaving, she stuck her tongue out at the colonel, pulling her lower eyelid down.

 _‘HE should leave!’_ she was annoyed too.

Below, the young soldiers were standing at attention, most of them staring at Dilandan’s red uniform.

‘Here is commandant Dilandau,’ the colonel stated, ‘he will attend your training in order to enlist the best fighters in his dragon slayer squadron.’

They bowed and got into position on the track to continue their training, but Dilandau no longer wanted to watch this.

‘If I have to select guymelef pilots,’ he said to colonel Harn, ‘I have to see them using guymelefs.’

‘But you know the dragon slayer squadron’s armours aren’t ready yet,’ the man objected.

‘Then I can’t decide today,’ he replied with a shrug.

The other officer stamped, displaying a mix of uneasiness, of impatience and of hesitation.

‘Are you telling me there is no other guymelef inside headquarters?’ Dilandau raised an eyebrow, somewhat threatening but the colonel was too much obsessed about his mission to notice.

‘Of course, but general Adelphos will never let youths like them trying his machines. Maybe I can ask for the melefs used during the last battle…’

‘I hate compromises!’ the young man couldn’t restrain his indignation.

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to content yourself with this,’ the man retorted coldly, although he kept a respectful tone.

Dilandau was craving for wringing the neck of this strict officer more solicitous over protocol than reality and who treated him like a temperamental child. But aside from that he wanted to see the boys fighting with armours, and melefs would be more than sufficient for him to appreciate their capacities.

Therefore they settled in a courtyard, and the performances of the soldiers mostly confirmed the judgement Dilandau had already held upon them.

In the end, colonel Harn made them stand at attention so that the young officer could appoint his future subordinates.

‘Those of you who will be designated will join the quarters of the dragon slayers in the northern area; there they’ll receive proper uniforms. The ceremony during which they’ll pledge allegiance to commandant Dilandau will take place tomorrow, in general Adelphos’ presence.’ he said formally.

‘Thank you, colonel Harn,’ Dilandau replied in the same tone, though the words had an ironic ringing in his mouth. ‘If you please, present my gratitude to general Adelphos.’

The prompting to leave wasn’t even hidden and although the colonel was eager to get rid of what he considered as drudgery, he wasn’t sure he could trust the young commandant.

‘You’ll have to hand the detailed list of your soldiers over to general Adelphos, will you?’

‘Don’t worry.’

‘You choose between fifteen and twenty men, right?’

‘I know, colonel.’ Dilandau’s face twitched but he kept his temper.

The man eventually left them, and he walked in front the row of soldiers.

He pointed at Miguel and four others who left the line and kneeled a little further away. But he needed at least ten more recruits and it was hard for him to make the right choice.

During minutes which seemed eternity for the soldiers, he walked up and down, designating a boy from time to time, until there were fifteen soldiers kneeling down near the arcade.

He was ready to leave but she built the picture of the blond boy in his brain.

_‘I’m not gonna take this one.’_

_‘Please, he’s cute.’_ she insisted impishly.

_‘I don’t care.’_

_‘It would do you some good to have a soldier who is not a brute.’_

_‘If all the soldiers here were brutes it wouldn’t have taken me so long to pick them.’_

_‘One always needs someone different…’_

She had a point, the idea of a squadron of all-alike looking and acting soldiers disgusted him but he didn’t want to obey her.

_‘I don’t want to manipulate you, it’s just that I will board this ship with you, I would like there is a kind person with me.’_

_‘Ain’t am good enough for you?’_ he retorted. But he waved at the boy who smiled brightly and joined the others.

 

Late this in the evening, Folken came to visit Dilandau in his room, knocking at the door and entering without waiting for an answer.

The young man offered him a twisted smile; he was again lying on his bed with a book in the hands.

‘I’m glad you’ve finally enlist your men,’ the strategist said.

‘You didn’t come just to tell me that, strategos.’

‘Indeed. I’m concerned about one of them.’

‘Yeah, that baby face kid is totally unfitted for war,’ Dilandau rolled his eyes.

‘Who?’

‘Chesta.’

Folken shook his head.

‘I’m talking about Miguel Lavariel. Not only his name sounds pure fabrication, he is the assassin of the slave trader.’

‘You’re quibbling about Miguel?’ the boy couldn’t believe it. ‘He is perfect.’

‘It’s not in Zaibach customs to recruit amongst their enemies. Do I really need to explain you why?’

‘You’d rather I choose altar boys who have never seen a drop of blood?’

The man frowned and Dilandau shook his head negatively.

‘Nay, I keep Miguel. I can answer for him, he will cause no harm to Zaibach and he’ll fight for you. All you need is to win your war, right?’

‘But this is a holy war,’ Folken said gravely, ‘we fight for a future that will bring peace…’

Just then, Dilandau ears started to ring, hiding the voice of the general, and even the tattooed face was a bit blurry.

His hearing only came back after silence had fallen again.

‘But, strategos, what do you think of Chesta?’ he asked.

Though Folken was pretty aware that the boy hadn’t listened to him he smiled imperceptibly.

‘I was surprised, but positively,’ he headed toward the door, ‘maybe he’ll have a good influence on you,’ he added, crossing the threshold.

‘Like fertilising my imagination for corporal punishment?’ Dilandau shouted out but the man was already gone.

He grumpily flopped back on his pillow. 

_‘That was a bad one,’_ she was disappointed.

_‘You have better to suggest?’_

_‘Hmm, “Like the influence I have on you?”’_

_‘It’s too easy. But about Chesta, I shouldn’t have picked him. You know he will probably be killed in the first battle…’_

_‘I told you he is strong.’_

_‘…if he doesn’t die during training,’_ he smirked.

 

But he had to admit it, he wouldn’t bear it if Chesta was taken away from him. The chubby boy had managed to become indispensable for him and the squad. He wasn’t mauled or hazed by his comrades as Dilandau had expected and he brought cheerfulness and energy in the group. Of course he was a little too reluctant to kill people or simply living beings, and he was too much concerned about his commandant’s welfare. Actually he could be worse than a mother hen if he wanted, except he was the one who followed everywhere his protégé who tried to shake him off, beating even Folken on the scale of annoyance.

 _‘But he is still cute,’_ she purred, mentally cuddling the boy like a doll.

 _‘Don’t you dare to bring such a picture in my head!’_ he made an abrupt stop.

He started walking again as she erased Chesta. Instead she showed him a view of all his subordinates.

 _‘In fact, you’ve got only cuties in your squad, is it for my own pleasure or for yours?’_ she teased him, and he saw her cheeks turning pink.

_‘Cut it out, you stupid girl!’_

_‘Don’t be mean with me!’_ she cried out, his eyes suddenly full of water.

What was that now? Tears?

She proudly lifted her chin and he saw her lower lip pressed forward to display a pout. 

He sometimes suspected her of feigning her naivety.

_‘Stop acting like a child.’_

_‘I don’t wanna grow up.’_

_‘No one likes crying babies.’_

_‘I don’t care.’_

_‘That’s my line.’_

He was arrived in front of Folken’s door.

Since nearly a month they had board the floating fortress, the strategist had given him but very little information about their mission. However he had let Dilandau know that they were approaching their target and the young officer guessed their meeting had something to do with his mission.

‘Dilandau, we will reach Fanelia in a few days. You must be ready to launch an attack,’ the strategist explained in his ever bored tone and in the same time so annoying.

‘What is “Fanelia”?’

‘I told you, a country hidden in the mountains, protected by dragons.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘It’s a remote country.’

‘And what have we got to do with it?’

‘Once again, our emperor’s future is obscured by…’

The ringing came again and the only words which reached Dilandau’s ears were: “Emperor Dornkirk wants us to remove the threat of this dragon.”

‘Got it. I’ll kill the dragon.’

Folken looked at him with a sort of despair.

‘You haven’t listened to a single word, have you?’

‘A dragon! I have to kill a dragon.’

‘Not whichever one.’

‘It’s no big deal. I’ll slay every dragon in Fanelia and it will be inside the heap.’

‘I’m not talking of a dragon of flesh and blood. It may not have the shape of a dragon.’

‘Then don’t call it a dragon.’

‘Fanelia’s protector,’ Folken resumed, impassive, ‘is an ancient armour, a white guymelef, according to the representations, which can only be piloted by the king himself.’

‘A white guymelef, then. I’ll destroy it.’

‘No, you’ll capture it.’ the general corrected.

‘Fine!’

‘Wait a second, Dilandau. Fanelia’s surroundings are infested with earth dragons. They are attracted by violence, so I suggest you to lure them somewhere else to lead your assault.’

‘I know my job!’ the young officer cockily pushed strands of hair back. ‘But you seem to have great knowledge of this unknown country.’

‘I come from there,’ Folken shrugged, ‘but never mind.’

‘Never mind? How comes you ended up in Zaibach then?’ Dilandau opened widely his eyes, for the man standing in front of him was suddenly a perfect stranger.

‘Because emperor Dornkirk and I share the same dream…’

‘I can’t believe that, Folken, you’re a traitor! A traitor!’

He stared oddly at him, with disgust and maybe fear, and slowly stepped back toward the door, as if facing a wild animal. Then his face distorted in a rictus.

‘I’ll make good use of your advices, strategos. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of your country.’

 

And indeed he split his troops in two teams, one for the dragons and one for the town, and gave them instructions for the next day.

‘But sir,’ Chesta couldn’t help asking while he followed him after training, ‘why are you staying aboard the Vione? Are you ill?’

‘No. I can’t be in both places at the same time so I’ll supervise operations from here. If I go with one of the teams…’

‘You would be carried away and couldn’t supervise anything.’ Chesta simply completed.

Dilandan stopped brutally, forcing Chesta to imitate him to avoid bumping into his superior, and casted him a dirty glance. The boy started a little and smiled sheepishly.

‘So you are fine?’

Grumbling inaudibly, Dilandau opened the door of the hangar. He was planning to train alone with his guymelef but his eyes fixed upon the all-alike blue giants.

He took a few steps toward them and made a stop on the edge of the empty space, putting a hand on the handrail.

‘I want all of you to come back alive tomorrow,’ he said with a threatening tone.

Chesta stood straight, proudly lifting his chin.

‘We won’t fail you, sir.’

‘You’ll be in your guymelefs and you’ll use your stealth cloaks,’ the young officer resumed slowly, ‘which means your enemies won’t be able to see your baby-face…’

‘Hey!’

‘They’ll try to kill you. You must kill them first. Do you understand? If you show pity or weakness, you’ll die.’

Chesta’s eyes turned sad though he kept standing at attention.

‘Do you expect me to give my comrades this message?’

Dilandau restrained a sigh of exasperation.

‘No, Chesta. Everyone else knows that.’

He suddenly turned back and climbed in the cockpit of his own machine.

Before it closed, he shortly glanced at the boy, remaining small on the floor.

 _‘Are you really gonna let them attack alone?’_

_‘Yeah, they have to experiment that. This miserable heap of straw is perfect for this.’_

_‘Isn’t it because it’s Folken’s country?’_

_‘I don’t know. I don’t wanna go there.’_

The red armour took its flight, dashing toward the sky and ignoring Chesta’s screams about Folken’s orders.

 _‘Faster, faster!’_ she piped happily.

 _‘You’re too much exited, girl,’_ he scolded, grimacing because of the stinging.

She faded away before the ascent was over. Dilandau stopped the engines. He was truly alone now, and for a split second the alseides was immobilized in the air. Then, faster and faster, the plunge began.

 

***

 

Dilandau walked out of the throne room, a smirk displayed on his face.

The mission hadn’t been exactly a success, for the Escaflowne had disappeared in a white column instead of being captured. However Fanelia was burnt down to the ground and his men had beaten the four samurais who were the pride of this country. Even Chesta had done his job properly. He and Dalet had join forces to kill Balgus, the most fearsome warrior of his time. In spite of their teamwork their guymelefs had been damaged, and he had showed them what it cost to ridicule the Dragon Slayers. The girl had been shocked by his behaviour but he didn’t care. His only regret was not to have attended the combat. He would have enjoyed seeing his baby Chesta destroying the symbol of an outdated age.

But just then a doubt assailed him. Who, between Dalet and Chesta had given the final blow? The picture of Chesta grappling with the old man appeared in his mind. Was the boy able to hit his elder? And then Dalet having to put an end to the fight. It wasn’t like the brown-haired boy to commit a blunder: they were invisible and they shouldn’t have been struck. Had Chesta’s pity threatened their mission?

‘Dilandau, there was no need to burn Fanelia to the ground. I’d like the stealth cloaks to be used more effectively.’

‘I never thought I’d hear that coming from _you_. Not from the man who sold out Fanelia, Folken.’ Dilandau swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. And now that damn pacifist general! He and Chesta would perfectly get along. This last thought finished to upset him.

‘An amateur like _you_ has no business telling me how to fight a battle,’ he said mechanically, without really listening to the strategist. Only then he realised he didn’t know the room they had entered.

 

At nightfall he sat down in his room near the window, holding a glass of wine. It was a kind of signal to tell the girl he allowed her to appear and talk with him.

When the night was quiet and the room bathed in the soft light of the moons, it was a good time for them to meet, because his state of mind permitted them to share their thoughts without hurting each other. More than Folken’s long winded speeches, emperor Dornkirk’s words had given him food for thought whose he wanted to discuss with her.

The young man got easily caught by the mesmerizing glimmer, drifting indolently on his reveries. He suddenly realised that he was still alone. She rarely made him wait, but this time she wasn’t coming.

She didn’t appear during that night, neither did she show up the next day.

 

In the evening he called for Miguel to come in the throne room.

He had forgotten her, absorbed by the prospect of wine and dragon-chase stories. But when his soldier entered the room, carrying the dear bottle, he saw her nose as she was peering through the veil which separated them. The nose quivered when she noticed he had seen her and she showed a larger part of her face. 

_‘Have you finished pouting?’_ he scoffed and she shared with him her feeling of injustice about Chesta and Dalet.

‘That’s how I have to deal with my men, I don’t ask you to understand.’

‘Excuse me sir?’ Miguel said startled, the bottle in one hand and the cork in the other. It wasn’t the first time he talked aloud to the girl, but usually he was alone when it happened. He shrugged and pointed at his glass to order the young man to fill it.

 _‘They are strong enough to take a slap or two from time to time.’_ he went back to her.

She showed him the faces of Chesta and Dalet while he heard his own voice threatening _“I don’t need a couple of incompetents in my Dragonslayers. Do you follow me?”_

_‘It’s not as if I was actually going to send them away.’_

_‘Then don’t say it.’_ she said sharply and disappeared.

He giggled and noticed Miguel’s efforts to keep an impassive face. 

‘Have you enjoyed chasing dragons, Miguel?’

‘For sure it was fun, sir. But I don’t understand why we didn’t bring back their flesh.’

‘Because it’s poisonous.’

‘Yes, precisely, there’s a couple of persons I’d like having them taste it,’ Miguel grinned innocently.

The high-pitched laugh of Dilandau resounded briefly in the hall. Then his subordinate started to recount the events of the mission in his cynic fashion. Yet he soon stopped as he saw the dull gaze of the other.

‘Err, sir, are you listening?’

‘I can’t believe Chesta and Dalet let their guymelefs being damaged!’ Dilandau exclaimed.

Miguel nodded. ‘Yes, we were all surprised. Apparently there was a problem with their stealth cloaks. They asked the guys in charge of the maintenance to check them.’

‘They didn’t tell me that.’ Actually he was glad that they didn’t make excuses. ‘Do you know who killed Balgus?’

‘They haven’t told me, but I imagine that Dalet had troubles with the samurai and that Chesta had to rescue him.’

‘Can you sincerely see Chesta killing a dodderer?’

‘Well, that baby doll isn’t the more aggressive in the squad but if one of his comrades is threatened he easily gets berserk.’

Dilandau frowned and Miguel felt the air around them turning cold.

‘That is how my Dragonslayers deal with their duties?’

‘Most of them, yes,’ the boy answered bravely, ‘but they are generally more reserved than Chesta. Except if it’s about you, sir. But the issue doesn’t really arise: we would eradicate any thing before it threatens you.’

‘Oh really?’ the officer raised an eyebrow, ‘I don’t remember that something like this happened in the past, do you?’

The soldier looked warily at the glass in front of him, as if reproaching it for making him talk too much.

‘Miguel! You are concealing something from me!’

‘I’ll tell you whatever you want,’ he said flatly.

‘Then speak!’ 

The dark blue eyes rose toward Dilandau, intense and far away at the same time.

‘Before we boarded the Vione, you went to chase dragons alone and you… smoke yourself out by setting a cave on fire.’ he paused but Dilandau’s impatient blink made him resume quickly. ‘We found you and took you to infirmary. Chesta stayed at your beside during the night and Ryuon kept him company. I wasn’t far, rummaging in Folken’s laboratory to find a cure or drugs.’

‘Medicines in Folken’s laboratory?’ Dilandau asked curtly.

‘He’s got medicinal herbs,’ Miguel affirmed, ‘I don’t know why but he’s got some. Or maybe he smokes this stuff to see his ideal future…’

‘Miguel…’

‘Forgive me. Then a couple of black cloaks came and said they wanted to take care of you. It’s Ryuon who flew off the handle first. He called them “sorcerers” and he seemed to hate them… Well, I don’t know the details but he and Chesta ended up slitting their throats, and also killed the handful of soldiers which escorted them. They had made too much noise so the rest of the squad led the militia on a wrong track while we got rid of the bodies with acid from Folken’s lab. We’ve never heard of them since. I guess that’s the drawback when you are a secret caste: you can’t open a formal investigation.’

Dilandau hadn’t moved a single muscle during the account but the last sentence drew a thin smirk on his face. It quickly disappeared.

‘Why did you hide me this?’

‘We didn’t mean to hide anything sir. But when you woke up you were in trouble with general Adelphos so we thought it wasn’t the right time. And afterward…’

‘You didn’t have the guts to bring it up.’

Miguel smiled sheepishly.

‘Was it important?’

The young officer smiled hazily. He couldn’t be angry though he should let them know his wrath. Chesta had killed men and nothing could break his joy. Yet the story left him thoughtful. What had the sorcerers to do with him?

‘Sir, may I ask you why we attacked Fanelia? You said the dragon was a threat for Zaibach, but this country clearly lives withdrawn and has scarce technologies.’

‘I can’t tell you more, Miguel. Emperor Dornkirk’s machines predicted that the dragon menaced our fate but he doesn’t know how.’

Miguel let slip a disdainful exclamation.

‘How can he and Folken give credence to a prophecy? I thought Zaibach was a scientific country.’

‘Here, fate is a science.’

‘Can it be?’ the boy looked interested. He was clever for an uneducated youngster and the contact with Zaibach sciences had sharpened his analytical skills and partly opened his narrow vision of the world. For his part, Dilandau couldn’t pay attention to this grunt work –although he enjoyed the advanced weapons it provided him– but Miguel’s interest amused him and his intelligence made him proud. He thought he would be a precious assistant or apprentice for Folken or the scientist caste but he preferred keeping him under his command.

‘Emperor Dornkirk is able to control fate,’ Dilandau explained, ‘Folken has the same ideal as him so he serves him.’

‘What is their ideal?’

‘Peace,’ Dilandau spat the word, ‘or happiness, whatever.’

‘It’s so grotesque! How many men have already tried to bring peace in the world? They think they can unify Gaea with war or diplomacy, it’s just endless! I believed Folken was a different kind of fool…’

 _‘Geez, he’s being stupid,’_ Dilandau thought, feeling a sort of contempt for Miguel, _‘He is blinded because he scorns Folken. He’s smart but is mistaken because of his prejudices.’_

_‘Someone else here could think about this and apply it for himself…’_

‘You are still here, sleeping beauty?’ he bit his lip, realising he had again talked aloud.

Miguel twisted his mouth. He had vaguely heard but he was absorbed by his reasoning.

‘But it’s not logical,’ he mumbled to himself, ‘Zaibach only annexed neighbouring countries for raw materials or labour force, without strategy. This, since the government doesn’t improve relations with ally countries, will lead other states to unite against Zaibach in order to stop its expansion.’ He looked at his superior. ‘I don’t understand what they have in mind.’

‘That is why you’re a simple soldier.’

_‘You’re being rude, he can’t know their plans.’_

_‘It’s part of my privileges to be unfair.’_

‘What about you, sir?’ Miguel wasn’t perturbed in the least, ‘Do you support them?’

‘I couldn’t care less. But as long as their tactics involve me taking part in combats, I’m in.’

_‘It’s too bad; Folken’s ideas have some good sides.’_

_‘Like what?’_

_‘Oh well, he doesn’t focus on humanity: he understands problems have a deeper source which affects all sorts of life…’_

_‘Okay stop. That was a stupid question.’_

_‘Geez, you two could do wonders if only you worked together.’_

_‘I know, with my skills and his science we could have the world at our feet. If only HE supported me.’_

_‘Uh, that sounds creepy.’_

He started to snicker and Miguel, thinking he was no longer required, stood up silently to take his leave.

‘One last thing Miguel Lavariel,’ Dilandau made him sit down again, ‘I’m curious about your name. Where does it come from?’

‘It belongs to a tale the old soldiers told in Toruan’s army,’ the boy was amused by the question, ‘they said there was an infantryman named Miguel de La Vallière. He was a foreigner but no one knew where he came from –no one really cared. And one day he disappeared. Some said he vanished in the night, other said a white column of light took him away. Whatever, he was never seen again,’ Miguel shrugged, and his face quivered merrily. ‘I just stole his name.’

‘Why his name?’

‘I liked the story. I wonder where the guy went. Maybe it’s the same column which carried the Escaflowne away. Maybe I could disappear too.’

A flash of images appeared suddenly in Dilandau’s head, but it wasn’t the girl or him who drew them. It wasn’t a bright light which took Miguel but a blue jelly or a black whirl, accompanied by a stench and a violent feeling of anguish.

 _‘What was that?’_ she cried, _‘It was terrifying!’_

_‘Go away!’_

The vision gave way to reality. Miguel was still here, his face flushed by the wine. He was smiling to Dilandau and tiredness brought twinkling in his eyes. The picture seemed a bit ethereal to the young officer, who felt the need to touch him and check his presence. But he didn’t move while his man said good night and left the room.

Dilandau stayed still for several minutes in a deafening silence.

‘Dammit!’ he shouted abruptly, ‘I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before!’

 _‘What?’_ She yawned.

 _‘That way of luring the dragons was stupid. I should have used Folken as bait instead!’_ The idea brought funny pictures out, which made him chuckle and squeak pathetically.

_‘And you say I’M childish?’_

_‘It’s your fault: you have too much influence on me. I’d better get rid of you.’_

_‘But you can’t get rid of me,’_ she laughed, _‘Oh no, you can’t!’_ her laughs rose up like a chirp, then turned into a waterfall.

These bursts of laughter were too loud and hurt Dilandau, but all the same he liked their music. She sank to protect him and the sounds faded, as if she drew away from him, carrying with her the tinkling of bells.

But she was still near him, curled up in a corner of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that some dialogues are directly taken from the series...  
> About Miguel's name: Mademoiselle de la Vallière was one of Louis XIV (King of France) mistresses. I came upon this name in a Danish tale and as it resembles 'Lavariel' I included it in this fic. However I don't know if the creators of Escaflowne were inspired by Mademoiselle de la Vallière.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter corresponds to the first part of the series so there will be quite a lot of ellipses because I don't want to retell the story (and because I like ellipses).

# I love you once, you love me twice

# Before we part

 

The guymelefs landed near the outpost.

 _‘They call this a castle? It’s just kindling for chimney,’_ Dilandau scoffed, _‘I’d better set fire to this place instead of wasting time with manners.’_

 _‘But if you burn everything you won’t be able to bring back food supplies or weapons on the Vione,’_ she argued.

 _‘That makes sense.’_ He got out of his alseides.

 _‘You know what? I think I know who I am,’_ she said with excitation, _‘I’m your conscience!’_

 _‘What is that?’_ he was surprised that she knew a word he didn’t know.

 _‘It’s the voice which tells you what is right or wrong,’_ she explained, _‘and it means you must do what I say.’_

 _‘You’re not my conscience,’_ he said quickly.

_‘Then, what am I?’_

_‘An annoying voice in my head.’_ He shrugged. _‘Maybe you don’t even exist.’_

_‘How dare you!’_

‘What the hell is this thing? Looks more like a fortress than a castle,’ he said aloud. ‘Forward, raise our flag!’ He walked resolutely toward the entrance, as a conqueror in a vanquished town. 

 

***

 

She was turning over and over Allen Schezar’s face in his head, examining the blue eyes, the blond hair, the pale skin, following the curve of his chin with her finger and even watching the whole body.

 _‘He’s handsome,’_ she mumbled to herself, _‘handsome. There, with the thin eyebrows.’_

 _‘Will you stop being so childish?’_ he sounded more angry that he expected.

But she wasn’t picturing and talking of the knight as she did when she mocked Dilandau about his pretty Dragonslayers. She was serious.

During the meeting in the castle she hadn’t stopped gazing fixedly at Allen for a single second. Even when he had kissed a strange girl she had kept watching, following every movement of his face. Disgusting.

 _‘Allen Schezar,’_ she said slowly, like a child learning to talk. _‘He reminds me of… something.’_

 _‘It’s the first time I see him. But I have heard of him before.’_ Dilandau explained.

 _‘Yes, soldiers talked about him, he is a well-known warrior.’_ She paused since he was irritated by this comment. _‘But he reminds me of something, you know, maybe… before you and I met. He is a good person isn’t he? I’d like…’_

 _‘It stings!’_ he growled.

 _‘Yes, sorry,’_ she replied absentmindedly and shrunk back, still looking at Allen’s picture and murmuring things.

He had never been so much annoyed by her behaviour before. Until then she didn’t really care about other people than him and his men. And suddenly she was obsessed with a stranger.

He couldn’t put the word “jealousy” on his feeling but being disregarded in favour of this coquettish skirt-chaser was more than he could bear. He had been the one who carried her in his head for years: he was her only world and she belonged to him.

His wrath turned toward Allen. He was happy that they were foes. The knight was hiding the Escaflowne and it was only a matter of time before his castle turns into ashes.

‘Allen Schezar, your luck ran out when you made an enemy of me.’

He was too impatient to be excited yet, but as soon as the fire tore the night the hysterical chase began.

He was way too much carried away to notice something was wrong but Folken kept an eye out. 

They preys were escaping by a waterfall. That was the last straw! How dared they to refuse him his revenge?

‘Cowards!’ he shouted himself hoarse.

He caught up with the floating ship, but just as he was starting the duel the dragon appeared. However it was fine: the Escaflowne and his pilot would pay for Allen too. 

 

***

 

Dilandau dragged himself along the hallway. He felt tired. Well, not really tired, rather irritated to the point he could feel his nerves twitching. That damn strategist! Forbidding him to kill Fanalia’s king was one thing but refusing to destroy the Escaflowne was beyond reason. Zaibach hadn’t built its power on relics of the past but on modernity. Get rid of the past, yes that was the right way.

 _‘You seem to be in an angelic mood today,’_ she scoffed, _‘what did I miss?’_

_‘Strictly nothing.’_

_‘Weren’t you supposed to launch an assault on the castle?’_

_‘Done.’_ he showed her the fortress in flames. _‘Don’t worry, Allen Schezar is still alive.’_

At the thought of the knight his guts contracted painfully with hate and he had to repress a growl.

‘So this is the threat to the future of the Zaibach Empire, huh? It’s just a stupid antique.’ he said to himself.

 _‘I don’t like this thing,’_ she stated, looking warily at the white and sharp giant.

Dilandau got closer. Folken was interested in this armour and interacted with it; he wanted to understand.

Something strange was happening, the pink heart of the guymelef grew darker and its aura seemed to envelop the soldier.

 _‘Please, let’s go away from this,’_ she was worried.

_‘You, go away.’_

When Dilandau raised his hand to touch the Drag Energist the dark aura became ominous, and all of a sudden the young man was thrown on the ground. His chin hit the smooth floor brutally, and though the impact was violent enough to stun a man it wasn’t this physical blow which hurt Dilandau. No one had ever brought him down. It was like he was about to throw up his rage and hatred but the feeling of humiliation stuck to his entire body.

_‘Please, let’s leave this place…’_

_‘I told you to go away!’_ Now wasn’t the moment for her to throw a tantrum. He had to think clearly. The guymelef. The threat. Fanelia’s king. The pilot. The only one. Only be piloted by the king…

The alert siren rang out at the same second as Dilandau jumped back on his feet. He walked quickly but now his minds were quiet and cold. He knew what he had to do. He didn’t need to think about where he had to go because a new instinct led him towards his goal.

_‘What are you doing? Wait! I have a bad feeling!’_

He caught sight of the dark haired boy down in the hangar and dashed toward him. Unsheathing his sword he pounced on Van Fanel like a possessed.

 _‘No, don’t do that!’_ she screamed.

He tried to ignore the pain in his head.

 _‘Please Dilandau,’_ she begged, _‘this will end badly.’_

He pushed her backward and was surprised to discover he could silence her. Finally he was able to focus on the boorish boy, that enemy for a whole empire.

A flash of white and silver and a new sensation. The stinging wasn’t in his head but on his cheek. He only realised when his knees hit the ground and he saw the blood. It was the second time this day, the second time in his entire life that he was biting the dust. His face…

But his strength was still here. When he realised that he stood up.

_‘Dilandau, are you alright?’_

‘GO AWAY!’

There was too much strength in his body that was shaking violently, like if about to burst in pieces. He staggered toward the wide open gate where the sky was wrapping Allen’s ship and taking it away.

‘How dare you damage my beautiful face…’

 

***

 

Dilandau turned his gaze away from the harbour and looked at his melted alseides. Fanelia’s king was still alive, and this simple thought was as painful as the wound on his cheek.

‘Lord Dilandau…’

‘I need a new guymelef.’ he snapped at Chesta and walked away.

 

He had just sat to drink when Gatti entered the throne room and said he was convoked by Folken. As an answer the boy got a slap. He was slapped a lot lately but he kept standing insolently straight, with no fear or shame. So many things were changing since the day of the scar, and Gatti’s stability could have been comforting if there wasn’t the frown he displayed after being wrongly punished.

Alright, Folken wanted an argument and he was going to get it.

But as usually there was no mean to quarrel with the imperturbable strategist and when Dilandau came back he was more frustrated than ever, both arms and hands itching and calling for violence.

‘My face…’ he wheezed.

His index pressed and pressed again on the plaster. He was too far away to notice the presence of someone else.

‘Lord Dilandau, I’ve brought your wine.’ Although the voice was soft he started abruptly. It wasn’t Chesta. Miguel poured the wine and put the bottle on the table. Out of the corner of his eye he watched his superior scratching his cheek.

‘Please, let your wound heal, sir,’ he said, looking at the floor.

The bottle hit his forehead and he was sprayed with the red liquid. Before he could regain his balance Dilandau grabbed him by his collar and slammed him against the wall.

‘HOW DARE YOU!’

Miguel’s blue eyes strangely turned like steel. First his hands undid the fastening of his uniform and shirt and bared his chest. Then they snuck along Dilandau’s jaw and the fingers curled around his neck, forcing his head forward until their lips mingled.

With one knee, Dilandau hit Miguel on the diaphragm, sending the young man rolling on the floor, doubled up in pain and gasping.

The officer looked down upon the other with disapproval. Not that Miguel wasn’t attractive; Dilandau knew he was handsome for his age. But it wasn’t right. As soldiers they weren’t supposed to be distracted by pleasures. Dilandau himself had renounced his baths since he had boarded the Vione. The only enjoyment he allowed himself and his men was alcohol.

However, just like Gatti, the daring boy had managed to make Dilandau forget about his wound, only for a few seconds. Who was going to be next? He got a weird feeling when Chesta’s face appeared in his minds. Was he reluctant to hit this one?

‘Chesta,’ he said aloud and the boy entered the room. As Dilandau expected, he was always within earshot.

‘Take Miguel to your quarters.’

‘Yes Lord Dil… Oh my god Miguel! What happened to you?’ he knelt hastily near his comrade who was still coughing, unable to catch his breath, and was holding back whines. ‘Hold on…’ Chesta carefully grasped him by his armpits and dragged him out of the room.

‘It stings…’ Dilandau was rubbing the plaster but he stopped his gesture and slowly moved his hand away. 

 

***

 

Is there a more annoying noise than a blade squeaking on glass? Well, if this couldn’t drive the strategist crazy, Dilandau didn’t know what could.

The sharp tip of the knife easily drew lines on the bottle, like in flesh. Slowly, the texture of glass was replaced by skin and Miguel’s smell came. Behind, the wine shimmered. Miguel’s lips had the taste of wine when he had kissed Dilandau, who still could feel him quivering against his armour and his eyelashes brushing his cheekbone.

‘Aaaaaar!’ Dilandau ripped the picture and the bottle with his dagger. ‘Folken!’ he spun around to face the man. Once again he bumped into the wall of boredom and impassiveness. But just when he was about to fly off the handle Gatti came in, and he was bringing good news, for a change. However Folken tried to prevent him from doing his job. He wanted to protect his little brother, Dilandau was sure in spite of the wise argumentation. The strategist who wanted to protect their enemies on one hand and his court of dragon slayers inventing idiocies to take care of him on the other! Sometimes he wondered if he was the only sensible person aboard the Vione.

‘I’m a man who destroyed his homeland’

Hmm, maybe Folken wasn’t so bad. 

 

***

 

‘You again, Allen Schezar?’

The dragon was flying away but Dilandau didn’t care. He had to take revenge on the knight. He had stolen the girl. Though he was happy to be rid of her voice it was still a wound for his pride.

‘I won’t let you destroy this town, Dilandau.’

Alright, the town would burn too.

‘Why Dilandau, why have you let the Escaflowne escape?’ Folken’s voice crackled through the radio. ‘Will I ever understand what’s going on in your head?’ he sounded exasperated or exhausted.

‘Having a nervous breakdown, strategos? I thought that was what you wanted…’

There was a silence that Dilandau couldn’t help but breaking by snickering. He could count the times when he shut the general up on the fingers of one hand.

‘Stop this absurd fight.’

‘That sounds much more like you.’

 

***

 

Dilandau got off his alseides. A thin figure was waiting for him on the walkway of the hangar.

‘What are you doing here Dalet?’ he asked curtly.

‘What are YOU doing here, Lord Dilandau?’ the boy exclaimed. His cheekbones flushed and Dilandau knew it was a sign of anger.

‘Huh, Dalet, are you willing to die?’

‘I’m not kidding! You betrayed us! We are a team and you acted alone!’ Actually the soldier was outraged.

‘We are certainly not a team,’ Dilandau retorted coldly after having slapped the boy. ‘You’d better go back to training, because you dreadfully need to discipline yourself. The others are not silly enough to waste time babbling.’

‘The others,’ Dalet said quietly, ‘are too dumbstruck by your behaviour to speak a word. Do you realise what you did?’

It seemed that everyone was going crazy in this fortress. Fine, Dilandau wasn’t tired of slapping them.

‘And how comes you can still speak?’ he asked while Dalet was picking himself up to receive another beating.

‘Someone has to keep a cool head.’

‘I agree with Dalet, sir, with all due respect.’ Gatti’s boring voice interfered.

‘So you’ve found your tongue back?’ Dilandau said sarcastically, as the boy was getting closer. The officer clenched his fist, ready to punish him.

‘How would you react if we did the same thing to you and left you alone?’

The young man turned literally as white as a sheet and before he could realise it he was sweating, every muscle tense like bent bow.

‘I’m sorry, it was a senseless question,’ Gatti said gently, and it was the first time his voice expressed warmth. ‘This could never happen.’

‘Lord Dilandau! You are alright!’ Chesta burst into the room, relief painted on his features.

Chesta was the only thing that would never change at all.

 

Dilandau was a bit more relaxed when he entered the throne room, but his heart was still beating too fast and he couldn’t explain why.

The rest of the squadron had changed since he had met them. They were more violent and lightly lower in flesh. But Chesta kept the exact same behaviour and still had his round cheeks.

Dilandau drank avidly the wine that the boy served him. That lad was the only thing that the girl had left for him. The only proof that she had existed. She hadn’t reappeared since the day he got the scar, and even if Dilandau could tell himself she was sleeping, she was not. Maybe he was simply becoming saner, but at the same time he was getting bored. It wasn’t so bad to have someone to talk with between the fights, no matter how childish she could be.

‘Sit down Chesta.’

The young man stamped with uneasiness and kept standing.

‘What’s wrong now?’

‘Sir, usually it’s Miguel who brings your wine and talks with you,’ Chesta blushed, feeling guilty.

‘What does it matter to you?’ Dilanau growled.

He fell silent and the other boy finally sat on the stool and started to twiddle his thumbs.

None of them peeped out a word until Dilandau finished the bottle. It wasn’t with Chesta or Miguel that he wanted to talk; it was with the girl. 

 

***

 

The dry land was rolling out at full speed under him. The cloud of dust on the horizon was due to the guymelefs working in the quarry of Drag Energist. He would have preferred continuing to fly in the desert landscape but he had to go there.

He flew over the main pit where the working men were digging carefully around the gems. On the edge were guard guymelefs and a little further away there were the shacks and the offices in the same building. There was also a dark house whose he didn’t know the utility.

He landed near the entrance of the management house, imitated by Gatti. When he got off his machine the sulphured air dried his lungs. It was a bit different than usual smoke. It smelt red.

He called out to a foot soldier: ‘Where is your superior?’

‘He is dead, sir,’ the man replied, slightly casual.

‘The general headquarters must have sent you a replacement.’ Dilandau wrinkled his nose, casting disgruntled glances around him. He could see the slackening in the whole quarry, and the threat of imminent disorder.

‘I don’t think they will, sir. It’s not the first time it happens. The sorcerers have taken him. He’ll probably be back in a few days.’

The sorcerers of course. Dilandau looked at the black building on the other side of the pit.

‘They are there, aren’t they?’ he asked pointing at the house.

‘Yes, sir,’ the man seemed surprised by his composure or by his interest in the sorcerers’ business.

‘Gatti, get as much information as can. I’ll go over there.’

‘You don’t seriously think about entering the sorcerers’ laboratory without permission?’ the foot soldier interfered.

Dilandau couldn’t slap him because he was under someone else command. But whoever was his superior he couldn’t get respect from his men.

‘Lord Dilandau, maybe it’s dangerous to go there alone…’ 

Gatti, on the contrary, was under his command.

 

The building was a rather small cube wrapped in black fabric. But what Dilandau had mistaken for a smaller room in the front was actually a tent, joined on to the wall of the house.

He moved aside the cloth that served as a door to get inside.

A long figure was lying on a cot, linked by wires to various machines. Dilandau let the curtain fall back and the room was again bathed in darkness, the only lights coming from the green screens. He took a few steps towards the man in the bed. This soldier was a little older than him, with a mass of pink hair above a gaunt face emptied of life.

Dilandau recognised him at first sight despite he hadn’t seen him for years. It was his former comrade, the first thing he had cared about, even only slightly. The one who had died in front of him. And the sorcerers were going to bring him back to life once again?

His lips became thinner as anger made its way through his body. If the man had been a stranger he may have not mind the experiments of the sorcerers. But he couldn’t let them play with his comrade. Not that his former brother in arms belonged to him like the dragon slayers, but he felt that he had the duty to protect his honour, his liberty, or something like that.

There was a flash of light when the curtains opened and let someone in. The newcomer came next to him, remaining silent.

‘It’s not right, Gatti.’ Dilandau said slowly. ‘I’m going back on the Vione. Finish what you have to do here.’ 

 

***

 

Folken was waiting in the engine room. He was standing as usually, wrapped in his black cloak, and in the half-light it was like a head hanged in the air. The sorcerers were always in his way. Dilandau and them had met and parted like in a death ballet all along his life. He had no reason to enter the tent, he reflected, but he felt attracted by their presence. Or was it them who pursued him?

‘Do you bring news, Dilandau?’

‘Not really, your brother killed the commander of the quarry…’ he nastily watched for Folken’s reaction but the face of the strategist was now in the shadow.

‘Don’t you have more indications?’

‘We don’t need that, strategos, Van must be heading to Freid, you said it, let’s just get moving and will find him on our way.’

‘I’d like you to take it seriously.’

‘Don’t complain, Gatti is still at the quarry, he’ll make you a long and boring report, like you love them.’

Folken only frowned and Dilandau knew he was about to cross the line.

‘It is true that you two understand each other rather well.’ he said quite ingenuously.

The both did their job way too gravely, playing the role they had given to themselves. Dilandau had never seen a smile on Gatti or Folken’s face. Had it been always like that?

‘Why is he taking so much time?’ the general asked after a silence.

‘Relax Folken, he’ll be back soon. My dragon slayers never fail me.’

Indeed Gatti showed up a little while later. He stiffly reported the information about the dragon, which confirmed Folken’s guess.

‘I have to report an incident that occurred a few minutes ago in the quarry,’ the boy added in the same tone. ‘A blaze in the laboratory of the sorcerers made two victims. The bodies of two sorcerers have been found, and the corpse of the commander was fully burnt. It is likely that the fire started because of a short circuit.’ Gatti finished and rolled his paper.

So even if he wasn’t charismatic in the least, this soldier was good at something. Dilandau was almost purring with delight. Gatti was so meticulous that he wouldn’t have let a single evidence on the crime scene. He was imperturbable when he told his false report, and nothing on Folken’s face could betrayed that he knew the other was lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, that wasn't a very funny chapter, next one should be more interesting.  
> Okay, there's at least one sorcerer dying in each chapter and it can look improbable that Dilandau and co aren't in troubles. I think that there are different ranks among the sorcerers and that they didn't kill the most "important" persons, therefore there weren't thorough investigations...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this chapter, hope you like it!

# Turn down the lights, let's kiss the night

# You've showed me once what is love

 

Amongst the several trainings of the dragon slayers, there was one that took place in the evening, after supper. It wasn’t an official training, so nothing obliged the boys to attend it, but none of them had ever failed to come.

Therefore Dilandau was surprised when Miguel happened to be missing one night. He didn’t comment during the session but at the end he called Gatti. ‘Where is Miguel?’

‘He is sick, Lord Dilandau,’ the young man replied a bit uneasily, ‘He was willing to come but he had to rest in our quarters.’

‘He is not sick, he is drunk,’ Guimel corrected mechanically and Gatti turned dark red as Dilandau looked daggers at him.

‘Tell him I’ll wait for him in the throne room, Gatti. And don’t you dare to play mediator with me again.’

 

***

 

Gatti bent over his comrade, slumped in his cot, still holding a bottle of wine. Maybe he wasn’t actually sick but he was in a terrible state, loudly snoring in the sheets soaked with alcohol. The second in command remembered the first time he had seen Miguel, in a similar position, tangled with Guimel on the floor. At that time he was wounded and stressed out but he was full of life. Now he looked like a rag.

More than the other dragon slayers, Miguel had suffered from Dilandau’s scar, as if injured himself, maybe because he understood their commandant better than the others. But Gatti thought that the moment he had truly started to give in to despair was when Chesta had brought him back in the dormitory after he had been beaten by Lord Dilandau. Gatti didn’t know what had happened between them at that moment but he was sure it had something to do with this night’s bender.

‘Miguel,’ he said, shaking his shoulder.

The boy groaned and rolled on his side, pressing his bottle against his chest.

‘Give me peace.’

‘Lord Dilandau wants to see you.’

Miguel opened wide round eyes and sat up like an automaton.

‘I’ll go,’ he said and his mouth remained open as he crossed the room dreamily.

 

Dilandau started at the sound of the door opening. The spectacle that was offered to his view made him stiffen. He had already seen a number of drunken people but it was really a pity to see Miguel in such a state and he was indignant that the boy had dirtied his dragon slayer uniform with wine.

‘You asked for me sir?’ Miguel’s voice was quite firm but far away.

He stood sheepishly in front of the lion throne, wondering if he had to apologize or kneel down and beg for Dilandau’s forgiveness.

‘Have you brought this wine only for yourself, Lavariel?’

The boy had to think a few seconds to understand the meaning of the sentence. He looked at his hands and noticed the bottle, then he shook his head negatively.

‘I can’t give you this wine, Lord Dilandau,’ he said, ‘but I’ll fetch a new bottle if it pleases you.’

‘Just put this bottle in the table and sit down.’ Dilandau wasn’t in a mood for manners.

Miguel obeyed warily, keeping the wine on his side of the table. Small green blades were flickering in the wine like seaweeds, but most of the plants were above the low liquid level, sticking to the glass wall and seeming to suffocate. Miguel too seemed to need oxygen, like a fish out of water. His face, hair and clothes were wet and sticky because of the alcohol and sweat. His eyes that had turned paler and rounder were eating his visage while wine had coloured his cheeks and his slightly open lips. Strangely he looked more attractive in this vulnerable appearance than when he had been proud and fierce.

Dilandau forced himself to look away from the red mouth.

‘I apologize flatly, Lord Dilandau,’ Miguel found his voice again. ‘I shouldn’t have missed the training.’ He took a short breath, ‘my behaviour dishonours the dragon slayers, I’m aware of that. I would have come without Gatti but he told me I had to sleep. He was right, that bastard’s always right. He didn’t want you to see me like this. I don’t want you to see me like this… But really I should have been by your side tonight…’

Dilandau raised his eyebrows as Miguel was getting things off his chest. He remembered that his former comrade was used to talk a lot when he had drunk too much, keeping saying the most stupid things for hours. Sometimes Dilandau had had to drag him back in their tent and the boy would continue talking all night long in his sleep. No way to shut him up.

But himself couldn’t feel the effect of alcohol. It pleased his senses, but would never affect his behaviour or emotions. He could recall the sound of the cork as his comrade had opened a stolen bottle, then he had heard him swallowing a couple of time. There was of course the mesmerizing undulation of the red or purple vino, and neither his comrade nor Miguel had failed to compare its colour to Dilandau’s irises. The smell was exciting, like blood, but at the same time it was linked in his minds to quiet moments and musing. Finally the taste was melt to the burning in his mouth, and it was like embers remaining along his throat.

But drunkenness he knew not.

He realised that Miguel had finished spouting and was staring at him.

‘Sir, may I ask you a question?’

‘Usually you aren’t shy.’

‘What do you plan to do after the war?’

‘There will be other wars.’

Miguel’s face twitched and he had a gesture of annoyance, as if shooing a fly away.

‘There will always be wars. But you, don’t you want to do something else?’

‘I don’t like to hear that from you, Miguel.’ Dilandau’s tone became threatening.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the boy apologized and silence fell upon them.

Not for long. Dilandau started to be fidgeted: Miguel’s questions had aroused his curiosity.

‘Finish your thought,’ he ordered.

‘Sir, I wish that you and I went away. We don’t need war.’

‘I like war.’

‘Will it be always like that?’

‘Without doubt.’

‘But have you thought about what you want to do?’

‘Stop asking questions and answer me.’

‘We could go away from Zaibach.’

Sure Dilandau didn’t like what Miguel was saying, but now that he had commanded him to speak he didn’t want to go back.

‘The two of us?’ he asked, ‘what about your squad?’

‘I like them. Yet I don’t really care if they come or not.’

‘Alright. And then, what would you do?’

Miguel suddenly hit his heart with his palm, like if he was afraid of having lost something. Then he resumed, keeping his hand on his chest: ‘There is one thing that matters to me,’ he grew very pale, ‘but sir, even for this I can’t leave you. That’s why I need you to come with me.’

Dilandau gave out a snarl. ‘Abridge!’

‘I’d like to grow flowers.’

Dilandau thought he was going to faint.

For a split second he saw white spots then his vision turned back to normal. Miguel was taking something out of the inside pocket of his uniform, the one at the level of heart. It was a small bag made with an old piece of cloth that the boy opened carefully, keeping it in the palm of his hand. Then he stretched his hand to show Dilandau what it contained. However the young officer couldn’t take but little interest in the seeds of several varieties that formed a heap in Miguel’s palm.

‘What the hell? Miguel, are you turning dotty?’

The boy brushed the seeds with the fingertips of his other hand, looking at them tenderly.

‘I collected them all my life, sir. In every place I’ve been there were flowers of all kind. I want to find a nice place to grow pretty flowers.’ He lifted his face towards his commandant and noticed the disgust in his gaze. ‘I’m sorry, Lord Dilandau, I shouldn’t have told you that. It’s just a silly dream.’

He took one corner of the cloth to close the little purse, and his hands were still a bit shaky. The inevitable disaster happened: his feverish fingers pulled the tissue a bit too hard and the seeds were thrown in the air. They fell all around him, sounding like drops of rain on the polish floor, and rolled or slid in every corner of the room.

Miguel remained dumbstruck for just a second. He slowly bent toward the ground to pick them up, feeling hot, and looking with anguish for his scattered treasure. He stopped moving, his face turned toward the floor and…

Dilandau had to look away while Miguel was throwing up, but he couldn’t avoid the noises.

‘I’m sorry,’ Miguel stammered and coughed a little more, ‘I’m gonna clean up.’

Quickly, and holding his nose up above the smell, Dilandau bypassed the puddle and placed himself behind his soldier. He caught him by the back of his collar and put him back on his feet.

‘Go to bed,’ he growled, ‘and have a wash before. Tell Gatti you have a day off tomorrow.’

Then he pushed the boy toward the door and turned around to the throne.

He noticed a green seed near his feet and he crushed it with disdain. It was a shame that Miguel took interest in these grains of nothing, he reflected, rubbing the sole of his boot against the floor to make sure the seed was turned to dust. And collecting them like a kid picks up all the dirty stuff he finds on the ground! Really, Miguel was screwed up. Dilandau gazed upon the mess that the boy had done there.

Miguel cared about those things.

The young officer picked up one little red ball and watched it closely. He really couldn’t understand what was interesting in this thing. He picked another one, then another one, and knelt down to catch them easier.

‘What is it, have you been ill, Dilandau?’ Folken’s voice surprised Dilandau as he was on all fours under the lion’s head.

‘No, it’s Miguel,’ he mumbled, stretching his arm to catch a seed near the foreleg and spun to continue his collecting across the room, ‘he boozed.’

‘That’s why you shouldn’t allow your men to drink alcohol. And you too shouldn’t drink so much.’

‘That idiot, he mixed the wine… move your foot… with some herbs he found in your lab.’

Dilandau sat up on his heels and looked at the seeds in his palm. He couldn’t understand who Miguel was. The boy had claimed that he had gathered seeds all along his life, so he had always been keen on flowers. Then why did he seem to be that cynic killer most of the time?

‘Strategos,’ Dilandau looked up at Folken, ‘Can war change people?’

The general took a short time to answer, surprised that his subordinate was taking interest in other people.

‘Yes, Dilandau, war brings the worst of humanity out.’

‘So growing flowers is better than fighting for his country?’ Dilandau was annoyed by the answer.

‘Miguel is not a Zaibacher.’

 

The next night the Escaflowne was spotted in the forest close to Freid’s boarder, while Dilandau was waiting in the machine room. He immediately hurried to the hangar where his men were waiting as well, ready to jump in their guymelefs.

‘You can stay here. Lord Dilandau has given you a day off,’ Gatti was saying as Dilandau was walking along the corridor near the door. ‘We can manage without you.’

‘Says the guy who took a bath instead of fighting Allen Schezar!’ Miguel scoffed.

‘But Allen Schezar won’t be here,’ Chesta’s gentle voice interfered, ‘it is okay if you rest Miguel.’

‘Who do you think I am?’

‘Usually I would be on your side, Miguel,’ Dalet said, ‘but really, I don’t need a drunkard under my feet during fight.’

‘Look at me you dummies, I’m perfectly fine! I…’

He stopped and they all formed into line for Dilandau had entered the room.

‘Get ready to take flight,’ he ordered, standing in front of Miguel so that the boy had to stay while the others were running towards their guymelefs.

Indeed, there was no trace of the previous night’s drinking on Miguel’s face. He was once again the ruthless soldier, holding calmly Dilandau’s gaze.

Miguel had no country except his imaginary piece of land, Dilandau mused. Until then he didn’t thought that the boy was only passing through Zaibach army.

The officer thought he had to say something but no word came so he smiled. He smirked because he was glad that Miguel was back to serve him and he smiled because of what he was about to do.

He opened Miguel’s uniform and thrust the bag of seeds in its pocket.

 

***

 

One more time Dilandau was leaving his alseides. He felt dirty that night. He came back to the throne room where the started bottle was waiting for him.

He caressed his scar feverishly. The scar, the girl, his alseides and now Miguel. It seemed that every time he was meeting the dragon he lost something. What would happen the next time?

It didn’t take long before Chesta’s sheepish face appeared by the door.

‘Lord Dilandau, can I come in?’

Dilandau waved at him to sit down but Chesta remained standing in front of him.

‘Sir, I’d like to volunteer for a rescue mission.’

‘That is not part of your job.’

‘I can do more, sir. Miguel is responsible for being taken prisoner, but he is more useful by your side than in Freid’s jail.’

‘What neither you nor your comrades want to understand is that you have to serve Zaibach Empire.’

Chesta bit his lip, and once again raised his water-like eyes toward Dilandau.

‘Please sir, I don’t want him to be alone.’

Dilandau had never seen a little boy sad for his friend so he couldn’t make the comparison, but Chesta’s ingenuousness somehow moved him. The fair skin of the boy seemed fresh, traversed by veins like the thin grooves on a petal, and slightly coloured with pink. Dilandau pinched Chesta’s cheek between index and thumb, to feel the plump flesh, then he squeezed harder, stabbing his nails in the soft skin. He wanted to bite this rounded cheek, to taste and smell the flower-like flesh and squeeze the thin members with his hands.

Dilandau felt like he had lost any sense of prudishness since the girl was gone. He released Chesta who hadn’t let slip a single moan.

‘Folken has decided another plan to use Miguel’s position. I’ve just dropped off one of his subordinate in an enemy vessel. He’ll free Miguel,’ he said and noticed that Chesta was discreetly rubbing his aching cheek.

The boy looked at him and smiled brightly.

‘So we could get in position near the capital to pick up Miguel when he’ll escape!’

‘Yes, we could do that,’ Dilandau nodded.

He hadn’t thought about this. It would be easy to convince Folken that it was the best way to obtain the spying report and maybe, by a stroke of luck, Van would come close enough to fall into his clutches.

Chesta left and Dilandau slouched on the back his throne. What the boy didn’t know was that Folken’s subordinate was a Doppelganger who had no interest in Miguel’s life or death. Dilandau had a bad feeling about this mission but it wasn’t his job to rescue an incompetent soldier. If the girl had been here she would have tried to persuade him to help the boy, he thought.

_‘If you ask, I’ll rescue him,’_ he said, but he knew he was talking alone.

 

***

 

‘Report to general Folken, Gatti,’ Dilandau said flatly.

His second in command nodded, and cast a glance at Chesta who was crying silently, before leaving the hangar.

‘Chesta, the rest of the squad has to be informed,’ Dilandau added.

He hastily passed the door, still craving for fighting.

He was so frustrated that the dragon had escaped one more time. Van had been within his reach but his alseides hadn’t been able to pursue him, the low pressure due to the loss of its arm having made it unable to fly.

He let himself fall in his throne and stretched his hand to grasp the wine bottle but there was only his empty glass on the table.

There had been also that girl from the Mystic Moon. She had warned Van many times when Dilandau should have killed him and thus was responsible for his scar. That was what the young officer had been thinking during the brief fight of that night. But now he felt different. He didn’t hate that girl because of the scar. He hated her because she was female, like the girl in his head who had betrayed and forsaken him. It was against this girl that he held grudges. But he didn’t need her. After all, she had probably never existed, except in his imagination. Or was it his memory which played tricks to him? Anyway, the girl from the Mystic Moon wasn’t so important. Van was the real responsible for his scar. Of course he would kill the girl too if he could, but Van was the priority. Van…kill…the dragon…burn…

He suddenly became aware of Folken’s presence and wondered since how long the straight figure had been looking at him.

‘I’m sorry for Miguel,’ the general said simply.

Dilandau didn’t answer so Folken started to talk about the mission.

‘According to his report, Zongi fulfilled his mission, but we can’t be sure that our enemies won’t discover the trickery now that we have no more spy in the place,’ he glanced meaningfully at Dilandau.

‘Don’t tell me you cared about that stinking doppelganger!’ the boy exclaimed, leaving his drowsiness.

Folken placed himself in front of the lion throne where Dilandau was idly sat, with one knee close to his chin, and bent to look him in the eye.

‘Did you care about Miguel?’ The eyes of the general seemed slightly paler than usually, a little more orangey, evoking an embroidered piece of cloth. Dilandau held the gaze, chewing up the joint of his index finger.

‘That’s a good question, strategos.’

The young man thought that he would no longer spend evenings with Miguel and that the boy wouldn’t make him laugh anymore. It was also a shame for his squadron. And maybe his other soldiers would be affected by Miguel’s death.

But he vaguely understood that Folken was talking of something else… Feelings?

The general stood up straight and became again the emotionless and manipulative strategist.

‘Freid may be prepared for an assault, so we must be careful...’

‘What does it change? We’ll erase them anyway.’

‘It is true that in terms of pure strength we have superiority. But our goal is certainly not to erase them. We must find the source of power our emperor needs.’

‘The source of power,’ Dilandau became dreamy, ‘I want it too. You said it will make our wishes come true?’

‘Yes with our science we’ll create the sphere of absolute happiness. It means every living being will find what he is longing for.’

‘Then the whole world will know war,’ Dilandau giggled, ‘cause I’m part of every living being, right? It will be great!’

Folken had a thin smile. ‘I hope the sphere of absolute happiness will teach you what happiness really means.’

‘Then you’re a dreamer.’ Dilandau felt uneasy because Folken’s gaze was full of kindness. He far more preferred the cold strategist.

 

***

 

‘Well played, Freid!’ Dilandau roared with insane laughter, looking at the flying vessels that were turning into small spots in the sky. ‘Burn everything!’ he ordered to his troop.

‘Lord Dilandau!’ Chesta screamed, ‘we can’t!’

‘Dilandau, there is nothing more to do here,’ Folken said through the radio, ‘come back to the Vione.’

‘I have something to do here, Strategos.’

‘Fine, but there is no reason to take revenge on the people of Freid.’

‘I’ve already avenged Miguel. Chesta, Gatti, stay with me. All other units back to the fortress!’ Dilandau shouted and climbed down his machine.

Actually he didn’t want Chesta and Gatti to be here but they would have refused to let him alone. And to be true he wanted to know that they weren’t far away.

Around him the Zaibach guymelfs were still walking in the ruins, gathering the survivors on the bare places.

Dilandau got rid of his men by telling them to split for the research. Though he didn’t like those half naked men he got close to a group of soldiers. They were attending to each other wounds, trying to save those who the violence of war had torn members off and let between life and death.

One of them seemed in a quite good state, wearing only a broad bruise over his cheek. Dilandau grasped him by the neck for there was no collar to catch.

‘Where is the corpse of the Zaibach soldier?’

The question wasn’t really accurate but the man seemed to understand.

‘I can show you,’ he pointed at the barracks whose half the walls were still standing.

The soldier led Dilandau to the back of the building, between the melefs hangar and the storage. They went in the narrow corridor formed by the two buildings. On the ground, at the boundary between light and shadow, Dilandau saw stains of brown blood, dating back to a few days ago.

‘Where is the body?’ Dilandau yelled at the man and slammed him against the wall.

‘If you let me explain,’ the man said stiffly but stayed calm. ‘That’s where we found him after he fought the king of Fanelia. He must have died of his wounds. I had just checked that he was actually dead when…’

‘Where is he now?’ Dilandau snarled. The man couldn’t know that the real murderer was the Doppelganger but that wasn’t the preoccupation of the young man at that time.

‘When a pillar of light appeared,’ the Freiden soldier resumed, ‘it lifted the boy and took him away. We didn’t find him back.’

Dilandau’s fingers loosened their grip as the officer looked at the sky. He felt dizzy, unable to be happy or sad.

 

He found Chesta and Gatti near their guymelefs and told them that Miguel’s body had been burnt down and spread away. Not that he didn’t want them to know the truth but it was simpler like this. He didn’t know the meaning of this disappearance and yet it was a precious thought for him. It reminded him of their discussion. Maybe it was just freedom.

 

***

 

The rose fell, swirling with the wind along its way down.

Dilandau was alone.

_‘Gatti, Chesta, Guimel, Dalet, Viole,’_ he couldn’t stop repeating their names. _‘Where are you?’_ He wanted her back now. They had all left him. Why did she refuse to come back?

He looked for her, folding and unfolding every part of his minds to find her trace. She must have been somewhere here; she couldn’t have totally deserted him. _‘Where are you? Come back!’_

A searing pain crossed his brain and he knew he had dug too far. A flash of memory replaced his vision. He couldn’t recognise the child crying but the words ran through him like spears: ‘Don’t leave me alone!’

‘Alone…’ he felt the urgent need to throw up his guts out of his body, as they were changing into a stone octopus.

 

‘General Folken!’

Zaibach strategist had just received the report informing him that Dilandau had returned alone to the Vione when a soldier burst in his office.

‘Lord Dilandau has fainted, he is on the walkway!’

Folken stood up, and although he seemed to move slowly, the soldier could hardly follow his long strides. It was like if the dark figure was sliding in the corridors, pushed by a mysterious wind.

They found another soldier kneeling near Dilandau who was indeed lying on the floor, deathly pale.

‘Take him to the infirmary,’ Folken said. He felt sorry for the dragon slayers who had died for a stupid revenge. But for the boy stretched out in the arms of his soldier, he felt nothing.

Dilandau’s face twitched from time to time and there was dried saliva near the corner of his lips. His face looked so hopeless that it had lost its beauty and the scar was like a stitching holding its skin.

Maybe Folken felt a little bit of compassion for the young man.

 

***

 

Dilandau woke up in a small room of the infirmary. He felt weird. He felt weak. It was the first time that such a thing happened. It was like if his strength had been replaced with a tiny quivering. He remained still for quite a long moment, during which Folken entered the room and sat down at his bedside.

Dilandau didn’t know why he was here. He didn’t even know what this room was, for he had never been there before. But what really concerned him was the strange sensation all over his body. Was he sick? It would be the first time…

He wanted Miguel to bring him wine but he remembered that the boy was dead, or disappeared, or whatever. He didn’t want to call the others. They should be at training at that hour. What time was it in fact? There was neither window nor clock in the white room that seemed to narrow more and more.

His attention went to the man next to him who hadn’t spoken a word.

‘What are you doing here, Folken?’

‘I’ve come to see how you are.’

‘Dammit Folken! I’m naked!’ Dilandau noticed that his torso was bare.

‘Then cover yourself.’

Actually Dilandau was still wearing his black leather slacks under the blanket. He pulled the cover and tucked it under his armpits to hide his body. He hiked his back up on the pillow to be half seated and at the same time he leant on an elbow to face Folken, because he didn’t want to look weak in front of the strategist, no matter how downy his muscles felt.

‘Why did you remove my shirt?’

‘You removed it,’ Folken replied. ‘Err, you ripped it.’

‘I have no memory of that.’

‘You’ve raved all night long.’ The face of the general became even more serious. ‘I have to talk to you. The sorcerers have sent a message to say they will take care of you.’

‘What? Why did you call them?’

‘I don’t know who warned them, but they want to take you with them.’

‘I don’t know why but I believe you. It must be that stupid medic who spies for them!’

Dilandau lay back on the pillow. The sorcerers, finally. It was time that they meet face to face. He still didn’t know why they had to meet, but it was their fate. He wanted answers, too, and to put an end to their strange connection, one way or another.

‘Dilandau, this is serious. I don’t know what the sorcerers want with you but you shouldn’t trust them. They may lure you by promising you to reveal your past. You shouldn’t follow them.’

‘Mind your own business, Folken.’

Dilandau looked at the ceiling, dreaming about the sorcerers.

‘You were a sorcerer,’ he said slowly. ‘In a very close future I’ll probably have to kill all of them. I hope you have nothing more to do with them because I wouldn’t like to kill you.’

Folken raised an eyebrow as a sign of high surprise.

‘Well, that’s nice of you, Dilandau.’

The young man rolled his eyes, then smirked.

‘I told you that I have already killed one of them, but my men too,’ he said and chuckled. ‘And Gatti burnt two sorcerers at the quarry. Can you imagine that insipid boy doing that? Actually he is very good!’ Dilandau giggled louder and he kept throwing up his laughter while his minds were going a little further away. Something was wrong with Gatti but he couldn’t remember what. He heard a scream in his memory and the laugh was strangled in his throat as a terrible vision appeared.

‘Where are you Gatti?’ he yelled. ‘Chesta?’ he said sheepishly. Normally the boy could hear even a whisper and came immediately. ‘Chesta!’ Dilandau screamed, losing his nerves. ‘Dalet!’ He started to sweat and shudder as the memories were coming back. Everything that had happened the day before was here. ‘Guimel! Viole!’ Dilandau struggled, trying to brush off the visions and to find the real dragon slayers.

He didn’t see Folken bending over him, and barely felt the needle that pricked him.

 

***

 

They came the next evening. Dilandau had awoken a few minutes before, finding himself and his sheets soaked with sweat.

They knocked at the door and introduced themselves very politely.

‘Lord Dilandau, it is an honour to meet you and to have the privilege to treat you.’

‘You tried to kill me.’

Dilandau looked at the two black cloaks and at the two men behind them. Those last ones were wearing uniforms that he didn’t know.

‘Indeed, at the beginning of your soldier life some of us thought you were too much out of control to be kept alive. However we are glad that you survived. You are safe with us,’ one of the sorcerers assured.

The other waved and the two soldiers went to the bed and lifted Dilandau by his armpits to put him on his feet. They put his arms on their shoulders so that he could steady himself.

The hands of the young man seized the soldiers’ necks and broke them as easily as they had always done. So his strength was still there even if he couldn’t feel it, Dilandau thought. It was good to know.

He almost collapsed with his two supports. He took a few steps like a drunk man and fell on the shoulder of the nearest sorcerer. He put his arm around his neck and looked at the gaunt, yellowish face, with a hooked nose planted in the middle. The small eyeballs were sunken in theirs sockets, watching him. However he had the vague instinct that he was the disgusting and frightening one. He was half naked and sticky, and his eyes, ringed and framed by dirty hair, were probably gleaming with craziness.

‘You’re ill; you’d better rest in bed and let our men carry you,’ the man said with a soothing tone.

‘I’m not ill. It’s that damn strategos who shot me up with his needle!’

He pushed the sorcerer toward his colleague to catch a second prop. In spite of his strength he felt unable to stand up, like if he could barely sense the world around him.

The sorcerers led him silently through the corridors. It was a nice feeling to be able to kill them with a simple pressure of the hands. And it was even more delightful to know they were aware of this. But it was too soon.

They turned at an angle and Dilandau saw a white door in front of him.

‘We are getting in there, right?’

The man on his left nodded.

‘We can answer all your questions,’ he said. ‘About your comrade you believed dead. Where your force comes from…’ he paused and muttered ‘your family…’

They entered the room and another couple of sorcerers turned to them.

‘There’s only one thing I wanna know.’ Dilandau replied. ‘Can you bring them back to life? All my men?’

He collapsed on a rectangular table and felt the sorcerers rolling his body on it, then they fastened him with straps.

‘No, we can’t.’

The idea of being captive turned him mad. He called his men, shouting himself hoarse. Above everything he wanted to call the girl but he didn’t know her name.

‘Where are you?’ That was all he could scream for her, between the names of his dragon slayers.

He knew she wasn’t there and for the first time he really believed that she had never been here. And this thought was far more frightening than the man bending over him with a needle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Sometimes it's hard to express the atmosphere you imagine in writing. I hope I came close to my goal in this one, especially about the relationship between Dilandau and the sorcerers...  
> Anyway, I'm excited to write the next chapter :)


	5. Chapter 5

# So set me free, make love to me

# And take me out of the dark

 

_‘Dilandau, Dilandau! Are you here? I can’t hear you!’_ she sounded desperate.

The words resounded in the emptiness and for several minutes a dead silence floated.

_‘I’m here.’_ he finally answered. His eyes could see again and though the room looked like other places he had seen, it was unfamiliar to him.

They fell silent for a moment. Then Dilandau saw a wave of blond hair that moved aside to reveal her cheek and the lower part of one of her wide eyes.

_‘Please, let me see your face,’_ she asked, _‘I feel like I haven’t seen you for so long.’_

He had the same feeling but he had lost all notion of time.

He lifted his glass to watch his reflection in the dark depth of the wine. He had forgotten about his scar that he could now see, distorted in the liquid. Was it since that time that the girl had been missing?

His face was strange, dull and dry. He could no longer find himself handsome. It was like the sloughed skin of a snake. The girl too seemed different to him. Her picture was blurred every now and then, like if he couldn’t focus on her.

He took a sip of wine.

_‘Miguel is dead, by the way.’_

She watched the pieces of memories, falling in deep sadness, and shed silent tears.

He wasn’t even angry at her for having let him alone at that painful moment. Actually he barely felt something at the remembrance of his soldier but her sorrow was kind of infectious. He hesitated just a little bit and finally shared with her the last piece of the story: the white column of light.

_‘What does it means?’_

At this moment someone entered the room. It was a dogman in dragon slayer uniform. The picture could have seemed incongruous to Dilandau at another time but he was already overwhelmed by his environment, like in a dream where no fancy was unexpected.

‘Where am I?’ he asked the soldier.

The dogman answered every question with obedience. He wore the black collar of slaves, and really Dilandau hated to see him wearing it along with the uniform of his squadron. The girl watched silently the newcomer with curiosity during the first part of their talk, but when they came to the death of de dragon slayers, which Dilandau had entirely forgotten, she started to rummage feverishly through the memories of the young man. He screamed in pain, as if trying to chase her away but he didn’t tell her to leave.

‘Who are you?’ the youth asked the dogman.

As the scene gave him a sense of déjà-vu he threw his glass at the soldier. At this very moment the girl released fragments of memory that were hidden in his brain, and the flood of bloody pictures made her scream hysterically. He screamed too, and their mingled voices made him feel free, like if becoming one unit was what they were meant for and their true identity.

Amongst the pieces of memory, he found about an unknown guymelef, more powerful, more dangerous than his alseides which seemed very old in comparison.

‘Jajuka… is my new guymelef ready?’

 

The training space aboard the floating fortress was quite reduced but every soldier left when the young officer came in. The girl didn’t attend their fight, probably crying in one corner of his head; he couldn’t hear her.

Jajuka was a surprising fighter. He seemed to be at one with his guymelef. Yet Dilandau had the upper hand over him during the whole training and the youth had the unpleasant feeling that his adversary was holding back. He left the training area with bitterness, resolving that only real fights could make him great again. He got rid of his subordinate in spite of the concern the dogman showed about him. Just like if the dragon slayer uniform held a curse that took the soul of the wearers and made them the lifetime servants of their commandant.

 

Once he was alone, and the room was quiet in the semi-darkness, the girl came back.

_‘I have a strange feeling about Jajuka,’_ she said. She breathed briefly as Dilandau didn’t reply. _‘It’s like I have already met him… I can’t remember well.’_

_‘You’ve already played that one with that blond knight.’_

_‘This time it’s more recent.’_

Coldness ran along the jawbone of the young man at these words. “Recent” was a black hole for him.

_‘It was like… I think I had a body,’_ she tried to explain, and showed him a fuzzy picture.

_‘My body?’_

_‘Maybe it was a dream. Maybe it was you who met Jajuka and don’t remember it…’_

Dilandau was no longer listening. He felt like a pierced goatskin, getting empty of its content.

_‘You know, I think we can trust Jajuka,’_ she said, trying to catch his attention again. 

_‘“We?”’_ he retorted rather nastily, _‘So now we are a team?’_ He shrugged. _‘It’s stupid to rely on your feelings to judge people.’_

In fact he was inclined to have confidence in the silent dogman who seemed to talk with his gentle blue eyes. But he needed proof of his loyalty.

 

Then the order to attack Rampant, an Asturian harbour, was given.

Dilandau felt alive again, like a long-ago-dead tree refilled with sap in an ocean of blood. At the moment he saw Van his body became younger and suppler.

But suddenly something utterly strange happened and he couldn’t remember a thing that occurred until he found himself in a flowered field, bathed with the evening sun and covered with tombstones.

He firstly thought he was dead, and the idea seemed quite sweet to him. He caught a frail butterfly wandering in front of him and crushed him in his fist. He watched the small pieces of the dead insect falling on the grass, slowly realizing the horror of death.

Something he couldn’t explain then happened to his body, sending him to the paroxysm of fear and distress.

‘Jajuka!’

He could barely acknowledge the blond haired knight near him who seemed in deep worry.

‘JAJUKA!’

By some miracle Dilandau couldn’t understand, the blue oreades appeared close to him. At that very moment the dogman was the only person he could count on and he felt a profound gratefulness warming his minds and smile.

 

During the flight he got time to calm down and think about the last events, though he was reluctant to do so.

When they landed close to the Zaibach shacks, plunged into darkness, Jajuka got off his machine to help his commandant, concerned as always about him. Yet he looked different, Dilandau observed while they were walking side by side, his face maybe a bit more severe than usually, or older.

Dilandau had the feeling that the dogman would explain everything, if only he had broken the silence and had asked a simple question.

But he didn’t dare. 

 

***

 

_‘Dilandau! Dilandau!’_

The youth was lying on his throne, one shoulder resting on the left arm, one leg on the other and his head hanging between.

_‘You look so bad…’_ she said with both sarcasm and concern.

_‘What do you want?’_ he groaned.

_‘Won’t you tell me what happened?’_

_‘I have seen Allen Schezar,’_ he tried to spit the name but couldn’t put enough scorn. _‘I was in Asturia. I was in drag.’_

_‘I’ve seen Allen too,’_ she said sheepishly, almost shameful. _‘I mean it must have been a dream. I think I went in his house. Like the last time I…’_

_‘Like the last time you took control of my body?’_

_‘No, no. How would have I done that?’_

_‘You can have done it involuntarily,’_ he accused.

_‘But how?’_

_‘Gravity. You are attracted by that knight, right?’_

_‘What?’_

Dilandau scoffed. He was just repeating things he had heard from Folken. Where was the strategist by the way? Dilandau hadn’t seen him nor had thought about him since he had awakened aboard Delate. This absence was kind of fishy. Moreover he would have liked to talk with the cold-minded man now.

_‘What happened then?’_ he asked grumpily, _‘in Allen’s house?’_

_‘He welcomed me; as if I was… we were…’_

_‘Family.’_

He spoke the word flatly, simply pronouncing a word she didn’t dare to say in front of him. He was indeed hurt, feeling abandoned. However this feeling was quickly replaced by another one, far more ominous.

Wherever he looked, all that Dilandau could see was terrifying emptiness.

Among the few but precious things that the young man had owned, he had lost most of them. But he kept standing straight as long as he could rely on the only thing that he couldn’t doubt possessing: his body. And now he couldn’t ignore the fact that this body belonged to someone else.

_‘Who are you?’_ Miguel’s voice resounded in his head.

_‘“What am I?”’ must be the right question,’_ he growled to himself. _‘And “who is the body I’m occupying?”’_

_‘Do you think that Jajuka knows about us?’_ she suddenly asked, browsing through his memories.

_‘I have that impression.’_

His stomach twisted at the thought that the dogman, his subordinate, was taking care of _her_ instead of him. For who cared about him now? He wasn’t even a human being, just some sort of brain parasite.

The girl waved her blond hair, showing him her pale face.

_‘Maybe I’m the parasite,’_ she said kindly.

_‘If you thought so you wouldn’t say it.’_ he replied sharply.

 

 

***

 

The day of the final battle came. All the allies of Asturia and all Zaibach forces were gathered in a dry land near the border.

Since the day before, the girl had been awake, keeping company to Dilandau who was glad not being left alone. They had stuck to each other all night long, afraid of being weakened if taken apart. Henceforth Dilandau didn’t care about his pride and willingly acknowledged that he needed the girl, even more than he had needed his dragon slayers, and even if she kept rummaging through his memory all the time to watch Allen and Jajuka’s faces.

When morning broke through the steel curtains they were both fully awake, though they felt a sort of laziness, or reluctance to meet the outside world.

_‘I have to go,’_ he said.

He knew she would leave soon, for she never attended the fighting.

_‘I won’t kill Allen Schezar,’_ he added after a pause.

 

But he would kill Van. The time for his revenge had come and he would let no one interfere. He had given instruction to Jajuka so that Allen wouldn’t bother him. He had never expected to have someone under his command able to stand up to the knight, however he wasn’t sure which one of he and Jajuka was responsible for the other.

Just like every time he forgot everything while he was fighting: the girl, the scar, Jajuka and Allen, the war. He also forgot the terror he had felt the last times he had faced Van. Strangely, he stayed relatively calm after Fanelia’s king cut one arm and one leg of his guymelef, and he shot at him Clymer claws with his remaining arm. But Van had definitely the upper hand in this fight. He cut that arm too and prepared to deal the final blow.

For the first time Dilandau really faced death, but he wasn’t panicked and not truly scared. He was impressed by his adversary who had surpassed his unnatural strength. Thus it was the end.

Suddenly Jajuka rose up in front of him. This time the dogman wasn’t swift enough to counter the blow and he used himself as a human shield.

‘Jajuka!’

All Dilandau’s fears came back at once, more violently than ever, and paralyzed him.

Jajuka turned to him in spite of his position.

‘It’s all right! It’s all right to change back to Celena! Back to that gentle Celena!’ he screamed over his shoulder.

_‘Celena?’_

Finally he knew her name. He was grateful toward the dogman.

‘Jajuka…!’

The oreades turned into blue flames in front of Dilandau’s eyes.

In the middle of his distress he got a vision and he believed it was the girl visiting him. But something was wrong: she was actually a little girl. He feared of being hoovered in her darkness.

‘Jajuka…Don’t leave me…alone.’ He had just enough strength to say these words.

_‘Celena! CELENA!’_

_‘I’m here!’_ she rose in his head.

_‘Celena,’_ he couldn’t express his relief to hear her voice, _‘he said I must…’_

_‘I’ve heard!’_

_‘What do I do?’_ he asked, panic stricken.

_‘Let it go, it’s okay.’_

Her calm was unexpected, but for once he was happy to rely on someone else than him.

He slumped backward and let the visions pass before his eyes until everything turned black. It took a moment before he got used to the darkness and was able to see two white spots. He slowly understood he was in a circular room that looked like a cavern, although the walls were plunged into darkness.

The white spots took the shape of human bodies, and though they were exactly identical, nor male or female, Dilandau acknowledged Celena immediately. It was the first time he saw her from head to toe, oddly drab and pale. The other body was his.

He watched them from above while they were looking at each other. The time seemed to stretch to eternity, yet he felt that only a split second had passed.

_‘What is going to happen?’_ he could hear himself asking from below.

_‘I have to find my family,’_ she replied, sounding determined but still hesitant.

_‘What is gonna happen to me?’_ This time he could hear angst in his own voice.

_‘It’s okay,’_ she said softly after a silence, _‘it will as if you were going to sleep,’_ she spoke the words like a lullaby.

_‘It will be dark?’_ He felt more and more breakable. He couldn’t stand the idea that she was going to leave him alone.

_‘Yes,’_ she said, and now he could see a light behind her, whereas the darkness behind him had grown deeper. _‘I have to go,’_ she added, as if trying to reassure her decision.

Suddenly he understood how much afraid she was.

She too had to leave; she had to become a tangible person and thus being exposed to the sight of other people. She had to go in a world she knew nothing about and to live her life. She needed at least as much courage as him to take the plunge.

Dilandau was relieved that she was scared too, that he wasn’t the only one to face up to the unknown.

He found himself looking at the scene through the eyes of his white body, facing Celena.

She moved her hand toward him. Her skin seemed to be made of a solid matter, between wax and marble, enveloped in a dusty halo, like fluff.

Dilandau was reluctant to abandon his body, the real one, too much afraid of going back to nothing. He wanted to go in the light.

Slowly Celena’s body moved back, while she was still stretching her arm toward him. She drew away from him, hoovered by the light which was moving away with her. Dilandau finally let it be and was dragged backward in his turn.

Celena merged into the dazzling light that was starting to burn Dilandau’s eyes, for he had stared at it too long. Little by little, his vision was swamped by the darkness, as well as his mind, and he totally sunk. 

 

***

***

***

 

He first checked that his treasure was still there, against his chest. The little bag was smaller than what it had used to be and Miguel vaguely remembered that the remaining seeds had been collected by Lord Dilandau.

Then his minds came back to Freid. The man who had searched him had removed his knife but had given him back the seeds, thinking he had no reason to take those away from the boy. Miguel supposed it was the same soldier who had let two seeds of Freiden flowers in his jail. Those people were amongst the most gentle he had met, and his prison guard had been easily moved by his young age.

He looked at the place where he was now lying on his back. The surroundings were odd and grey. He was in a street with high buildings climbing up into the cloudy sky, shadowed by the falling night. The place was unknown to him, covered with concrete, silent, deserted and cold. Miguel tried to stand up but he could only roll on his side and kneel.

Between the edge of the pavement where he was curled up and the road, a very small and dirty stream was slowly running. In his position Miguel could catch sight of his reflection in the water. He bent over to have a better look.

The face under his gaze belonged to a man in his forties or fifties. After a more careful examination he had to acknowledge the man looked like him. And the head stuck out of the familiar collar of his dragon slayer uniform. On his neck he wore no trace of strangulation though he could still recall the cold clutch of the Doppelganger. He felt no contusion or wound from his previous fights either. But his dirty brown hair stuck around his face was mingled with white strands. He remained watching his reflection, fascinated by the luminous dark blue eyes that pierced the grubby water.

‘Excuse me sir, can I help you?’

Miguel turned around and looked up toward the young man standing near his shoulder.

The visage of the newcomer, surrounded by long brown hair reminded him of someone, but the face of that knight was already fading away in his memory. On the contrary he remembered clearly Lord Dilandau who must be somewhere on Gaea.

‘What is this town?’ he asked.

‘This is Berlin,’ the young man replied. He looked concerned about Miguel, and more surprising, he showed deference to him, as to an elder.

Miguel had never heard the name of the town. He looked around him and toward the sky. There was a hole in the thick layer of cloud, in which the moon was gently shinning.

No Mystic Moon.

Someone else than Miguel would have been disoriented, but he wasn’t, thanks to the strange logic that had guided him along his short life. He resolved at first sight that if he couldn’t see the Mystic Moon, according to the current knowledge of astronomy, it could only mean that he was in the Mystic Moon and that Gaea was hidden behind the moon. This thought didn’t disturb him in the least, for his only preoccupation was how he would go back to Gaea, find Lord Dilandau and resume his place by his side.

Without noticing it, he slowly stood up, gazing at the moonlight, as if attracted by the invisible Gaea. A white column, that was all he needed to come back. He felt so light; about to leave the ground, meanwhile the surroundings seemed covered by a white veil. But… was he really expected? Mechanically he grasped the pocket where he kept his seeds. The gesture reminded him of the night when Lord Dilandau had thrusted them in his jacket. What if his Lord wasn’t waiting for him? His behaviour hadn’t been the one of a superior. He should have destroyed or made him destroy the bag. This meant more than a gesture of kindness. Lord Dilandau had offered him his freedom.

Miguel had never thought that the intricate mind of his commandant could include empathy or care for others’ desires. Now it was the only logical explanation he could find for this attitude. Logic was the stronger link between him and Lord Dilandau, what had permitted them to understand each other during their first meeting. Dilandau himself had only a vague idea of freedom or of dreams, for he was a man of the present instant. But he had probably glimpsed those feelings in Miguel’s drunkard speech. The soldier came to the conclusion that Dilandau’s wish was that he lived his life. Not only for himself but also for his Lord who couldn’t want to choose his own future.

Miguel came back to reality. He was still in the quiet street, erected straight toward the moon, slightly shivering in the cold breeze. The young man smiled to him, waiting patiently. He was a bit taller than him but Miguel realised that the difference of age was much bigger.

‘My name is Amano Susumu,’ the youth said, ‘I’m studying at the University not far from here. If you want to come with me, I’ll get you something hot to drink and eat there.’

Miguel didn’t reply immediately, wondering if he should be offended for being pitied or grateful or suspicious.

‘I’m sorry,’ Amano broke the silence again, ‘I’m only here for two months, I don’t speak German well.’

‘I don’t speak German,’ Miguel replied and smiled when Amano frowned.

He knew that the girl from the Mystic Moon had no trouble to talk with Gaean people, and for some reason the boy and him could understand each other as well.

Miguel shrugged. ‘I’m coming.’

He casted a glance toward Gaea and Lord Dilandau, suddenly overwhelmed by a so bittersweet feeling that he remained powerless. He let drop his armour on the ground, thinking he no longer needed it.

Amano opened round eyes, for the man now wore only his trousers, boots and thin shirt in the sharp coldness of the night. Miguel acknowledged that he looked crazy, with his strange clothes and behaviour, but the young man remained silent, understanding that something was happening. He simply offered him his coat.

Amano didn’t question him while they walked along the streets. As a matter of conversation he described the city. Maybe he was happy to find another stranger than himself in this town.

‘The university is beautiful; it’s an old building from the 17th century…’ Miguel didn’t really care about what Amano was saying but he listened to the music of the words, discovering the charm of being entertained.

All of a sudden he rose his nose up in the air.

‘What is this smell?’ he asked. The fragrance was so light that Miguel wasn’t sure it wasn’t his imagination. They were going along a high grid with thick vertical bars that stretched almost from one end to the other of the street. Some branches were hanging through the bars, just above them.

Miguel went closer, trying to see through the darkness. At first the shapes were confused, a heap of mixed curves of the same dark blue-green colour but with more or less clear shades. Slowly, some more precise forms emerged here and there. A rose, spreading his fair petals coloured by the mysterious moonlight, lilac running on an arch, its colours not totally drowned in the night, a vivid yellow bay laurel standing straight in front of him and rising his branches toward the sky.

A soft snow started to fall, like white petals swirling in the wind.

Miguel had pressed his face against the bars, stretching his nose forward at his best.

‘It’s the National Botanic Garden,’ Amano explained. ‘It’s closed at this hour but you can get inside tomorrow. The university is just behind.’

Miguel tore himself away from the garden, blinking like if he was wakening from a dream.

‘Someone like me? Inside this place?’

Amano nodded and smiled. He was moved by the childish look in the eyes of the man in front of him. The stranger seemed lost, possibly amnesiac, externally worn out and old, but he was glowing from inside with hope and youth. He was looking at Amano hesitantly. Then he returned the smile.

‘My name is Miguel. Miguel Lavariel.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it weird? It's gonna be just a little bit weirder in the last chapter...  
> Hope you like it and thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the last chapter. Actually it's more like an epilogue.  
> Hope you like the end!

# I'm still on the run, still on the roll

# To find somebody, someone like you

 

The spring was spreading pale pink petals on the green grass and the wind was blowing on the hills. At the top of the path, the wings of the windmill were grating, turning lazily.

Inside the house, Celena raised her head from the book she was reading, and by the window she saw the small shape of a horseman riding down the southern hill. Her brother would be home in less than an hour.

Allen had been away all winter long, fulfilling his functions in a fortress near the Fanelian border. He had come back a few days ago but had only got the time to kiss his sister before heading to Palas for his report to the king.

Celena had missed him hard, and twice, for she had both missed the man she had met after the war and the gentle brother she remembered from her childhood. She had been used to look up to him, and she was still astonished that he had actually turned into the hero she thought he was when she was five.

Her memories had resurfaced little by little, sometimes with the help of places, items or portraits that she had known. Her more vivid recollection was her mother, who she had loved above everyone else. Her grieve had been so heavy when she had learnt her death that she has been stuck in bed for a whole month, and that was all thanks to Allen and Jajuka that she had made it through.

Her father she didn’t remember well. A bearded man who was nice with her.

Celena looked at the family portrait and smiled to her mother. Then she shook her head and turned her gaze away before the tears could come.

After the war, Allen had been by her side almost all the time, and this had been a great period. They had lived in the court of Palas, busy teaching her what she had missed during the past ten years. She was pretty much like a six years old little girl in the body of a maiden of fifteen. Everybody there had been nice with her thanks to the rank of her brother and to her gracefulness. On top of that, she had been discovering a new world, with no war, which she could feel with her own senses. But then her brother had had to leave to take charge of his castle down south. He had hesitated between taking her with him and entrusting her to Princess Eries. Celena had refused the first option for she didn’t want to live with soldiers anymore. Eries Aston was a good teacher and had already helped her a lot to catch up, but if Celena had settled in the royal palace as her lady-in-waiting she would have learnt only “women stuff”. It wasn’t as if she didn’t like sewing, cooking or helping around with the other maids but it was far too little for her greedy mind. She wanted to learn everything ever known by a human being. Thus she had made up her mind to live in the familial house, a little further away from the capital. And it hadn’t been difficult to convince her brother that she needed to stay there, in a place charged with the benevolent presence of her mother.

Jajuka had survived his terrible wound, but he remained extremely diminished physically. After his convalescence, he had fallen silent, almost grumpy, spending most of his time in the stable. He had of course decided to stay with Celena, but it was hard now to say who took care of the other. The girl was longing for independence and he had lost his strength. Therefore he took care of the two horses and she took care of herself. At the end of the war, the beast men reduced to slavery had been freed, but Jajuka had refused to come back to his village or to search for his family, in spite of Celena’s insistence. He had learnt that his sister and her family where still alive but he had only sent a letter which had remained unanswered.

So Celena had spent the winter with the young dog man that looked and acted like an old man, learning whatever she could from books and from the neighbourhood. Jajuka helped her a bit with her lessons and she helped in the farms around the domain. She also did housework, things that Princess Eries would have taught her and things that she wouldn’t, like going out at night, climbing the highest hill of the area and watching the stars and the moons with a makeshift telescope. Her big project during the winter had been the repairs of the old windmill adjoining the house. In her childhood memories, its wings were always spinning, looking like a disc. She had found it sad to hear the wind moaning in the ruins and had set to work. Doing this job had permitted her to discover that she still had the inhuman strength Zaibach’s science had given her. It had allowed her to manage to do this rough outside work during the cold season, while Jajuka had had to stay inside because of his rheumatisms.

Celena took the last log of the season and threw it on the embers of the chimney to welcome her brother with a warm fire. She picked up a poker and crouched, reviving the fire with delight. She was still fascinated by the swaying flames, the snaps and cracks and the smell of burning wood. She sat down cross-legged, thinking of her life aboard the Vione. She remembered everything that she had seen through Dilandau’s eyes, and she awfully missed the dragon slayers. All of them. The feeling of injustice made her heart bleed when she thought about those youths who had died for nothing. She had carved their names on the wall at the back of the house and had planted a rose bush at its bottom. Thorny stems had pierced the snow layer on the first days of spring and were now crawling around the names, carrying white buds.

She even missed Folken, the cold and grey strategist, so depressed and depressing, looking at an ideal future that would never exist outside his mind. She had admired some of his character traits, his pacifism and his patience. However she couldn’t help pitying him, for he was more a dreamer than an idealist and he had screwed up his disproportionate undertaking. Twice he had caused fight and death and twice he had wished to make the world a better place. She would like to meet him again, now that she was herself, to understand better this enigmatic man.

But the one she really wanted to meet again was Dilandau. The first days without him had seemed unreal. She had been full of life, overcame with new sensations but at the same time a part of her had died and had let an empty hole. She kept the hope alive that Dilandau would appear again, a voice in her head that would tease her or ask for attention, merely a presence deeply asleep in her chest or a stranger knocking at her door. But she knew that the young man was nowhere to be found. He had left on his own will for the void and he had no way of coming back.

Celena had tremendously wished that he had the right to live his own life, not a role of puppet in a borrowed body, tampered to fit his creators’ purposes. Some nights she had been feverish and had dreamt that she could split her body in two halves and give life back to Dilandau. Then she would wake up in a sweat and find herself desperate and powerless.

She released a sigh, trying to superimpose the flickering flames and her memory of Dilandau’s eyes.

All of a sudden, the heat of the fire became unbearable. Celena clumsily shrank back, still crouching. She was sweating and feeling terrible. Just after she had managed to get back on her feet she was cold and shivering. She rubbed her arms with her hands and judged it was time to rush toward the bathroom for she was actually ill.

She didn’t reached the toilet in time and fell on her knees, face lowered toward the ground, making guttural noises while she was vomiting. Over her own sounds she heard two persons approaching. One came from the back bedroom where he was resting, making the wooden floor crack under his steps; the other came from the front door that clapped when it closed.

Her brother was the first to kneel near her, carefully putting his hands on her shoulders.

‘What is happening to you Celena?’ he asked with concern.

She sat up on her heels and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

‘I feel bad,’ she muttered thoughtfully.

Allen softly turned her toward him and examined her face in silence.

‘I’m calling a doctor,’ he finally said.

‘A doctor would be of no use.’ Jajuka growled behind him.

At this moment Celena’s hand moved as if by its own will and placed itself on her stomach. The other hand followed. The girl knew that she was blushing while she was stroking her belly. She felt warm but now it was a nice feeling that wrapped her, mixed with excitement and tenderness. She raised her gaze to meet her brother’s clear blue eyes which were as large as hen’s eggs. His mouth opened widely too, but no sound came out while he was silently articulating:

‘How?’ 

 

***

 

Celena poked the fire.

The whole valley had turned brown and grey. It had been a strange autumn, cold and dry. When a dead leaf came off a branch, it fell straight and hit the ground with a snap. In the same way, Celena’s hair was turning blond again, from the roots, like a proof that Dilandau had completely deserted her body.

The young girl sat down to read Jajuka’s letter. In the early summer, the dogman had received an answer from his sister to his letter and he had eventually left to visit his family in a lost village of the mountains. He wrote to Celena as frequently as he could –which means almost every day– short letters, some of them identical except for the date, which formed a thick pile on the girl’s desk. In the one she was reading he told her that he intended to come back before the first snow of winter trap him in the mountains. With the sparse descriptions given by Jajuka throughout their correspondence, Celena could imagine the white landscapes of the snow-capped peaks in which the dogmen made small brown spots, and bigger spots where they were gathered in villages. She pictured Jajuka in a portrait with flakes mingled in his fur, the light snow caught in his soft hair. He would maybe look older, like a white haired man, but his gaze would look younger.

Celena checked the child playing at her feet. He was holding a rag doll that she had made for him, whose colours strangely reminded of the dragon slayers uniform. She couldn’t chase them of her mind. The little boy was looking at it, cross-legged, with a very serious expression, moving only his dark eyelashes when he slowly blinked.

The girl took a quill and an inkwell out of a drawer. In answer to Jajuka’s letter she wrote him to wait for her in his mountain.

In the meantime the child had crawled behind the chest of drawers, and turning around he found that he could no longer see the woman. He started to cry, calling her with high-pitched screams.

She stood up and came close to him, knelt and wrapped him in her hands. She looked at his face already surrounded by silver curls, his crimson eyes full of tears and his thin lips pressed in a pout. The young mother brushed his forehead with her mouth and watched again his face. The joy that overwhelmed her when they looked each other straight in eye was beyond compare with what she could have felt before.

She smiled to the child who was still upset that she had let him think she had abandoned him. Celena brought her face closer, still smiling.

‘You will never be alone.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's finished...  
> I made an illustration for this story that you can find on DeviantArt.  
> Here the link: https://www.deviantart.com/mick-aelle/art/Not-Alone-798878818  
> Thank you very much for reading this fic!


End file.
